


Chasing White Light

by merlypops



Series: the smallest things collide just to make us [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Cheating, Chronic Pain, Depression, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Ghosts, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Past Suicide Attempt, Lake District, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Madness, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Moving In Together, Painkillers, Reconciliation, Sad Michael, Sciatica, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, The boys are English in this by the way, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 89,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlypops/pseuds/merlypops
Summary: Did I catch you dreaming?Even believing you were alive?“I thought I was going crazy,” Michael said weakly. His eyes were locked on Ashton’s face as he drank everything in: the way his honey-coloured curls fell artfully across his forehead; the glimmer of his hazel eyes behind his crooked glasses; his heart-shaped lips and the tiny hint of a smirk curving the corner of his mouth.“I thought I’d imagined you,” Michael confessed and the light in Ashton’s eyes went out.“Maybe you did,” he said flatly.In his fight to discover the truth about their new home, Michael must do everything in his power to stay sane... but when holding onto his fragile sanity means letting go of Ashton, Michael isn't sure it's worth the cost.Based on “Running” by The Lonely Wild.





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everlastingcontrast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlastingcontrast/gifts), [likepapermagnets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likepapermagnets/gifts).



> This fic is for Charlotte and Rachel. Their endless support means the world to me and I love them both to the moon.
> 
> Hi everyone!  
> I've been toying with the idea of writing a ghost!Mashton fic for a very long time and I can't wait to see what you all think of this universe! I hope you love it as much as I have grown to <3  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Click [here](https://goo.gl/sgso6F) to go to the Chasing White Light playlist on Spotify and [here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/katyanker1996/os-chasing-white-light/) to view my Pinterest board for the story.

Michael already wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, and they hadn’t even got there yet.

The car had been crawling along the M6 towards the Lake District for _hours_ now and, if Luke’s falsely cheerful voice piped up suggesting that they stop in another fucking service station to ‘grab a bite to eat and stretch their legs’ , Michael was actually going to tuck and roll out of the car. To put it mildly, he needed to get out of the car yesterday. To put it _harshly_ , Michael wanted to use Calum’s lighter to set fire to himself.

“I can practically feel the loathing rolling off of you, Mikey, and it’s obscuring my vision,” Calum said mildly as they finally - _finally_ \- left the motorway behind… not that the A590 was _much_ better but still, Michael would take the small victories where he could get them.

“Won’t be too much longer now, Mike,” Luke lied kindly, twisting in the front seat to smile at the older man with his kind blue eyes. The three of them had been crammed into the car for what felt like most of Michael’s adult life - which, admittedly, had only been three years - and, as the fifth hour of driving finally dawned, Michael gave up, relaxing back in his seat.

They’d left their homes in London at six o’clock that morning, stowing the last of their belongings in the removal van and agreeing to meet it up north later that day, after they’d had time to pick up the door keys from the estate agent. Honestly, if Michael had been tired this morning, he was _exhausted_ now, his green eyes bleary as he noticed that there was fortunately a lot less traffic on this road. He let out a low breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as his overheated cheek fell to rest against the cool glass. Fields and woodland flew past through the window as Calum’s car carried them on, and Michael stretched out his bad leg as best he could in the cramped space, wincing a little at the pain he could feel.

“How’s your sciatica, Mikey?” Luke asked from the front seat, almost like he knew what the older man was thinking. Michael looked up at the blond man slowly, aiming to keep his expression blank and free of pain although he probably just looked unfriendly. Luke grimaced and Michael immediately felt bad.

“You worry too much,” the older man said, forcing a huff of laughter as he awkwardly dragged his fingers through his freshly-dyed red hair. “Don’t stress about me, okay? I’m fine.”

Michael was lying of course.

Ever since the car accident a few years earlier, he’d never been the same. A disc had slipped in Michael's spine when his father's car had ploughed into him on his walk home from college and, once he'd woken up in the hospital two weeks later - unable to move and half-blind with pain - his assailant had been sitting right there at his bedside with his arm wrapped around his wife and cold fury in his eyes.

Despite Michael being _certain_ that his injuries had been caused by his father, Daryl Clifford’s car had mysteriously ‘vanished’ while his son was still in a coma and no one had ever been able to prove it had been him due to the lack of evidence. Of course, who was going to believe Michael’s story anyway?

Even when he was considered recovered enough to view things ‘sensibly’, no one really took his claims seriously. It was the word of a deeply troubled and mentally unstable teenager against that of his outwardly loving, hard-working estate agent father who would never _dream_ of hurting his family… at least in any way that could be pinned on him.

His mum was too afraid to speak out and Michael didn’t want to hurt Karen by forcing her to choose between them, and the solitary police officer who had been sent out to investigate the hit and run didn’t believe him either. _No one_ did… no one but Calum and Luke, and Michael’s grandpa. The red-haired man was convinced even his two best friends had started to doubt him in the end, growing wary of him and his mood swings in a way they never had been before (although, with hindsight, that could just have been his paranoia talking).

Only Michael’s grandpa had believed him entirely.

Old Jack Clifford had listened to his grandson when no one else would.

“Mike?” Luke asked softly and the red-haired man jerked in shock, mortified when he realised his tired green eyes were welling with tears. Calum’s tanned hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel as they passed over the River Kent and Michael swallowed roughly past the lump in his throat.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, staring down at where he’d bitten his fingernails painfully short as he forced the tears back. “Just… remembering. That’s all.”

Calum’s dark brown eyes watched his childhood best friend sadly in the rear view mirror but Michael couldn’t look at him… couldn’t bear to see the inevitable _kindness_ there that only made him feel worse. It was sunny outside the window but the warmth didn’t seem able to permeate the car. Michael felt cold as he slumped there against the seat.

“Were you thinking about your grandpa?” Luke asked softly and the older man shrugged, the movement jerky and painful as his back ached.

“Sure,” Michael sighed, deciding it was easier to tell a half-lie than the truth. Nobody wanted to hear about how much Michael hurt. Nobody wanted to hear about the sickening mixture of pain and numbness that had been radiating through his sciatic nerve ever since that fateful day of the accident, or the awful tingling sensation in his left leg and lower back that kept him awake at night, or the fact that he couldn’t lie down with his legs flat on the mattress anymore or he might not be able to stand up again. Nobody wanted to hear that his left calf muscle, and the muscles in his foot and ankle were so weakened that he struggled to run anymore… that sometimes he struggled to _walk_.

His two best friends already knew how broken he was.

What would reminding them now achieve besides ripping open old wounds better left untouched?

Michael’s pride had combined with his stubbornness years ago, around the time the twenty one year old had vowed never to let on how awful he sometimes felt. It was why he hated using his cane when it hurt too badly to put weight on his leg. It was why Michael had chosen to drop out of college instead of facing his classmates feeling like a cripple. It was why he had learnt to cry silently when he was still a kid. He couldn’t stand people thinking he was weak. He _hated_ it.

Luke was watching the red-haired man so unhappily that Michael had to look away, had to force himself to focus on something - _anything_ \- else… anything but the pain he had caused on his best friend’s face.

The first thing Michael’s gaze settled on was the spell jar in his lap. His mum had slipped it to him through the open car window when they’d left that morning, a remnant of her dabbles in witchcraft during college. As far as he knew, Karen didn’t practice much anymore so it always sent something warm and soft unfurling in Michael’s chest when she gave him something like this.

‘ _Something to remember her by_ ,’ the little voice in his head whispered nastily. Michael pressed his lips together so hard they went bloodless, fighting to ignore it because he _hated_ that voice so much… hated that it always whispered the things that scared him most.

He’d talked to his counsellor Eve about it before, told her that he found it so hard to control his thoughts sometimes that they felt like they were burning him up from the inside out and… god, now that he was remembering her with her kind eyes and greying hair, a lump was rising in his throat all _over_ again because… fuck, he didn’t know how he was going to _cope_ without Eve’s support. She’d assured him that he’d be fine so long as he followed the exercises they’d gone over together and made sure he didn’t bottle things up but… Michael was fairly certain those were both easier said than done. He didn’t think he was ready at all.

‘ _Focus on the jar_ ,’ he told himself desperately. ‘ _Focus on your breathing and calm down. You’re not allowed to freak out in the car with Calum and Luke._ ’

Michael forced his damp green eyes open cautiously, letting out a quiet relieved breath when he realised that the younger two men were now watching the road ahead as Calum guided the car onto the A591. They glided over the tarmac in silence, flying past Sizergh Castle so quickly that Michael barely caught a glimpse of the medieval fortress through the thick woodland edging the road.

The spell jar grew sweaty in his palm as he gripped it tightly, contemplating living in a place as strange and _wild_ as this. Michael was used to kebab shops and grotty little newsagents that seemed to sprout out of the cracked pavements on the backstreets of north London. His current surroundings were about as far from that world as it was possible to get because everything just seemed so ancient and strange here. It was all so much _bigger_ than he was used to, with mountains on the horizon and thick forests stretching out around him.

Michael was so glad his mum had given him the spell jar now; it was something familiar and comforting to hold onto when his heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his ribcage.

His throat thickened as he lifted the jar closer, twisting it in the warm light filtering in from outside so that the glass glinted in the sunshine. There was a little piece of paper tucked into his pocket - handwritten in his mum’s delicate script - that detailed all of the ingredients and intentions gathered in the jar but, over the course of the morning, Michael had already memorised them.

Karen had used sea salt for protection, black pepper to banish negativity, ginger for adventure and new experiences, sage for cleansing and purification, and cumin to promote peace and tranquillity. The ingredients had been layered neatly inside the tiny jar and Michael’s heart beat a little calmer as he focused on it, breathing slow and deep the way Eve had encouraged him to whenever he got panicky during one of their sessions. Michael rubbed the pad of his thumb gently over the white wax his mum had used to seal the jar, pressing his lips to it silently.

The white symbolised hope, protection, and peace, and Michael had possibly never missed his mum more than he did in that moment. His mum loved him more than anyone alive and, despite how bitter the twenty one year old might have felt at the prospect of fleeing his past (and her with it), he never forgot that. He loved her too.

Karen had insisted he join Calum and Luke in an effort to keep him safe, just like she’d lovingly crafted this jar. Michael had seen it in her tear-filled eyes when she'd carefully passed it through the open car window to him - the same green eyes she shared with her son – and gently pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Such sad eyes,” she’d whispered when she’d drawn back to look at her only child, laying her palm lightly against his cheek. “Keep yourself safe for me, Mikey bear, until I see you again. This isn’t the end; do you hear me? It’s the beginning.”

Remembering those words now made Michael feel a shadow of his former hope, a sliver of the excitement he had felt when he’d first agreed to move up here with his two best friends and Michael held onto it with everything he had, sheltering the spark in his chest just like his two best friends were doing as they tried to stay optimistic.

Calum had wanted to leave his over-protective home for as long as he could remember and, when he’d done his geography project on the work rangers did in the Lake District during secondary school, it was instantly all he ever wanted to do. Moving to Cumbria to become a field ranger in his favourite place on the planet was the dark-haired man’s dream and there had never been any question of Luke following Calum there.

The blond man would have done anything to get away from his homophobic family - not that Michael could blame him for that - and chasing the affection Calum so willingly bestowed upon the blond man had always been Luke’s favourite thing to do. He’d been in love with Calum from day one and he would have followed him anywhere.

Michael was just along for the ride.

“How much further is there to go?” the red-haired man asked curiously, glancing out of the window and trying to work out whereabouts they were. He’d just seen a sign stating that a place called Kendal was two miles away but it meant nothing to Michael. He’d never been in this part of the country before, not even when his two best friends had come to visit the new house a few months previously (although Michael used the word ‘new’ sparingly; the house might have been renovated recently but it had been up in the Fells for _years_ ).

Calum and Luke had had to go on the visit without Michael - not that they’d been too upset by that as they’d probably used the experience as some sort of Big Gay Road Trip Of Unresolved Sexual Tension - but Michael had been disappointed, mostly in himself. He’d been in too much pain at the time to even leave the house so sitting trapped in a car for well over twelve hours there and back would have been excruciating, not to mention impossible.

He wished that had been the _only_ occasion his sciatica had prevented him from enjoying but it just wasn’t the case. There’d been the holiday to Belgium last year and the Disneyland Florida trip two years before that, and there were the smaller things too; the nights going to bars and those stupid pub quizzes Luke loved, and that one Christmas where Calum wanted them all to go ice-skating together but Michael had to sit on the benches and watch. His sciatica flared up every now and then - sometimes for a reason, mostly out of nowhere - and Michael grew bitterer with every explosion of pain… with every missed opportunity that held him back.

Michael didn’t want to have to rely on strong painkillers and a fucking _walking stick_ in order to leave the house on his bad days.

He wanted to go outside and feel the sun on his skin without pain just like everyone else did.

“There’s still around forty miles to go,” Calum said and it took Michael a moment to remember that he’d even asked a question in the first place. “We should be there in about two hours unless we stop for lunch now.” Calum’s dark eyes met Michael’s in the rear view mirror and he smiled a little, apparently perking up at the mention of food. “Should we stop for food now or eat later?”

Michael pulled a face as he considered this. They’d stopped for a large fry-up that morning which had been just the right side of greasy but Michael was flagging now and he definitely wouldn’t say no to a cheese sandwich. Luke seemed to agree.

“I think we should find a pub somewhere to stop,” the blond man said after a moment’s thought. “We’re not going to have the kitchen set up when we get there later so we might as well have our main meal now.” Luke glanced back to shoot Michael’s bad leg another worried glance. “I don’t think it would be a bad idea to get out of this car anyway.”

“I agree,” Calum said, stifling a yawn although his tired eyes were already scrutinising the nearest road sign as he tried to find a place for them to stop. “My butt’s falling asleep. I won’t be able to get out of the car at this rate.”

Luke rolled his eyes fondly as he reached across the gearshift to lay a comforting hand on the tanned man’s arm, for once forgetting his concerns for Michael in the face of doting on Calum which was something that Luke took very, _very_ seriously.

“We should stop now,” the blond man said gently, making Calum’s lips curve into a hesitant smile. (Michael just hoped they didn't start giving each other The Eyes as they so often did when they got lost in each other’s gazes; otherwise the car might end up wrapped around a tree, and them with it.) “You've been driving for hours, Cally. You deserve a rest.”

Michael mimed pretending to be sick in the back of the car but, when no one gave him any attention, he gave up with a little huff and settled back in his seat to see where they would be stopping for food.

In the end, after a scenic drive through the Lyth Valley and an irritatingly bumpy ride along a winding lane called Underbarrow Road, lunch came to them in the form of a pub called The Black Labrador. Calum’s whole face lit up when he saw it, presumably because he loved dogs so much, and Luke was practically giving the dark-haired man heart eyes as they climbed out of the car together, relishing in stretching their legs and breathing in the fresh air. It took Michael a little longer to join them, his face paling at the pain he could feel rocketing down his leg as he struggled to straighten up once he made it outside.

The pub garden was reassuringly busy as Luke led the way excitedly inside. Michael turned down the arm Calum hesitantly offered him with an embarrassed shake of his head and, gritting his teeth, the red-haired man followed his two best friends into the pub. It was nice inside, cool and shady, and as rustic and traditional as Michael had imagined. Luke sighed wistfully at the sight of the comfortable-looking room.

“I hope I can get work in a nice place like this,” the blond man said quietly, his blue eyes darting about as he took in the blazing log burner and the dark wood of the bar gleaming where it had been polished to a shine. “What about you, Mikey?” Luke asked, looking so enthusiastic that - for just a moment - he was untouched by the years that had passed since they’d first met him. For just a moment, standing there illuminated in a beam of sunlight, he looked just like the excited boy Michael and Calum had befriended that first day in secondary school when they were eleven years old.

“Would you consider working somewhere like this?” Luke asked and Michael blinked as the illusion broke. There was the Luke he knew and loved now, with his neat blond hair and the laughter lines just beginning to crinkle the skin around his sky blue eyes.

“Maybe,” Michael mumbled, not wanting to rain on Luke’s parade by telling him how unlikely it was that he’d be able to work somewhere that required him to be able to move around with ease. “You’d be great though, Lukey,” the red-haired man said sincerely. “I _know_ you would.”

Luke smiled so wide that his blue eyes crinkled and, when Michael shot a quick look towards Calum, the dark-haired man was watching Michael with something like relief. It made the red-haired man feel guilty. He knew he could snap at the people he cared about most when he was feeling anxious or vulnerable but he couldn’t believe that even being passably pleasant was cause for surprise.

God, how could Calum and Luke put up with him if he’d really grown _that_ prickly?

Michael didn’t know what he’d done right to deserve best friends like them.

The metaphorical raincloud that had momentarily dissipated during the car ride up north gathered like a storm around Michael’s head and, by the time their meal had ended and they’d bundled back into the car again, he was back to feeling tense and defensive. The pain growing in his leg was shooting down into his foot and Michael gritted his teeth against it, pressing his head back hard into the seat in an effort to distract himself as Calum guided the car out onto the road.

Luke started up a half-hearted game of I Spy as they were driving past Burneside and Staveley but it wasn’t until the A591 took them across the Troutbeck Bridge and Calum started singing ‘Accidentally In Love’ by Counting Crows in a deliberately tuneless way that Michael finally cracked a smile.

“There’s that grin we love!” Calum cheered from the front seat, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling as Luke smiled at Michael over his broad shoulder. “We missed it, Mikey. You gotta smile more often.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Michael muttered but he was still smiling a little bit as the car travelled through Ecclerigg. Windermere Lake was hidden behind the trees, only evident in the glimpses of blue water glinting in the early afternoon sunlight when Michael glanced back. The A593 took them over the River Brathay and the red-haired man watched the quaint little houses passing them as the sunlight dappled down through the trees. He hoped their house looked like this; it was hard to see in the pictures Calum had shown him since the sun had already been going down by the time the pair of them had arrived but he’d caught a glimpse of red brick and a dark slate roof. Michael hoped it held at least some of the charm that these houses passing now did.

The car climbed noticeably higher when they passed through Little Langdale and Michael’s palm pressed flat against the window as he peered out at the wide blue lake they were passing. Michael could see the mountains rising in the background, the sheep grazing in the fields by the road as the car twisted carefully through the Wrynose Pass.

After that, the journey grew more frustrating. It took almost an _hour_ to reach the Hardknott Pass after they got stuck behind not one, not two, but _three_ tractors. Michael was grumpy again and even Luke looked vaguely surly now, and Michael could tell Calum was getting pissed off too because his shoulders were too tense and his dimples hadn’t been visible in well over half an hour, an anomaly that was almost _unheard_ of. It reminded Michael vaguely of their last year at secondary school when all of them had been trying (and failing dismally) to revise for their maths GCSE. They’d been collectively annoyed then too.

“There’s a Roman Fort over there,” Michael said from the backseat, attempting to break the tension as he pointed half-heartedly towards the ruins. Luke shot him a mildly dirty look.

“I don’t care about a Roman Fort,” the blond man said sulkily. “What I _care_ about is finding a toilet as soon as possible.”

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?!” Calum grumbled as they drove alongside the River Esk, shooting the blond man a scowl that _still_ managed to look vaguely fond. “I told you not to drink all those apple juices in the pub! Fruit juice isn’t even _thirst quenching_ , Luke! It’s hot today!”

“I drank it for the vitamins, Calum! The vitamins! Something you’d _know_ about if you actually took those multivitamin tablets I keep buying you! They'd make your hair look healthier.”

“My hair's _fine_ , thank you _very_ much!”

Michael rolled his eyes as he watched the two of them bickering like an old married couple but he had to admit that it helped distract him from how bored he was and, by the time they’d _finally_ stopped fighting - and Calum had grudgingly stopped the car so that Luke could pee behind a bush - they were already driving along Bowerhouse Bank, just half an hour from their destination if they didn’t get stuck behind any _more_ slow-moving agricultural vehicles.

The ground was rising beside the road now, rocky and craggy as the blue sky darkened when the sun slipped momentarily behind a cloud. An apprehensive silence filled the car when they crossed Santon Bridge and it felt almost as though the three of them were finally feeling the weight of their decision to move here. Michael could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising and he shivered at the tension he could feel saturating the car as they headed towards the village of Nether Wasdale. There were no other vehicles in sight now.

Once they were out the other side, the trees edging the right side of the road dropped sharply beneath the metal barrier as they climbed carefully higher, the land falling away into a steep hill that led down to Wast Water Lake. Illgill Head rose up behind it, the mountain peak reflected in the miles of rippling water as Calum guided his car along beneath the canopy of trees. The roads were unnamed now, dark and dappled with shadows as, all the while, the rocky ground rose around them, carrying them with it.

When they finally broke through the trees, the sudden sunlight blinded them and Calum stamped hastily on the brakes, keen not to swerve off into one of the low stone walls that edged the road. Michael blinked to clear his vision, his hand falling to rub at his aching leg unconsciously as his emerald eyes drank in his surroundings, growing rapidly wider as he saw Scafell Pike rising colossally in the distance, the tallest mountain in all of England.

“This is it,” Calum could be heard breathing as he carried them onwards towards the small hamlet of Wasdale Head, apparently unaware that his words were audible. “I made it.”

Michael’s breath caught in his throat as he looked outside, turning his head frantically in an effort to take everything in as they wound through the valleys, climbing higher and higher. All Michael could see for miles around were fields and great expanses of rock as the mountains towered into the sky, and it sent his heart racing in his chest as he curled his fingers desperately around the spell jar in his sweaty palm, the last trace of home he had left.

They had to drive around Scafell Pike to reach the hamlet and Michael’s eyes almost felt like they were going to roll out of their sockets as he gazed around him in shock. He’d had no idea how _remote_ it was going to be living here and this realisation only sank in further when they finally reached what passed for a main road in Wasdale Head. It was little more than a dusty track winding through tiny buildings surrounded by muddy fields and the occasional wind-battered tree. The sun shining through the clouds made the long grass look like rippling waves and the red-haired man’s eyes widened at how beautiful Wasdale Head looked in the sunlight.

“This is just like being in the Shire,” Michael mumbled unthinkingly, unaware that Calum and Luke were grinning at him from the front seat, apparently relishing in his reaction the first time he saw where they would be living. “Except, y’know, if the Shire had its own mountain range or something.”

“You could’ve just said the Misty Mountains instead,” Calum pointed out as he finally drew the car to a stop in front of the Barn Door Shop. It was a small white-painted building selling outdoor gear, presumably for the numerous tourists arriving to go camping and try climbing the nearby mountains, but Michael barely noticed as he rolled his eyes at his best friend’s comment.

“Nerd,” he said firmly.

“Muggle,” Calum retorted.

“You’re crossing your genres,” the red-haired man said. “Anyway, am I allowed to say ‘finally’ now? Are we here?”

There were people in brightly coloured anoraks passing their car on the narrow street and Luke watched them curiously as they disappeared into Ritson’s Bar, tucked away behind the Wasdale Head Inn. It was the establishment he was hoping to work in and Michael watched the blond man with soft eyes for a moment before he turned to Calum as he answered him.

“Almost,” the dark-haired man said. “I just need to pop into the Inn to collect the keys from the estate agent and then we can get back on the road.” Calum rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly but his face was alight with excitement now as he stared around at the place he’d always wanted to live in… this strange new green world that Michael didn’t know quite how to process. “The estate agent said Wasdale Head was a ‘sprawling agricultural hamlet’ and she wasn’t kidding. Our new place is another half-mile away, through the other side of the hamlet. The house is in a much smaller place; it’s got a different name too I think. We need to go higher to reach it.”

Michael gulped nervously when Calum bid them goodbye and bounded over towards the Inn, wrapping his arms around himself as though his jumper wasn’t quite enough to keep him warm against what seemed to be a perpetually cold wind. When he’d finally disappeared into the building, Luke dragged his eyes away to give Michael a wan smile which didn’t quite reach his damp blue eyes.

“You okay, Lukey?” the red-haired man asked softly. Luke pressed his lips together when he heard how gentle Michael’s tone was but he reached for his best friend shakily, looking relieved when Michael tangled their fingers together without a second thought.

“I… I think so, yeah,” the blond man murmured after just a moment too long. Michael rubbed his thumb over Luke’s knuckles comfortingly.

“You don’t look sure,” Michael pointed out gently. “Do you… do you regret saying you’d come here? Are you… scared?” ‘ _Like I am_ ,’ the little voice added bleakly, and for once Michael didn’t resent it because it was _true_. Being here – so far away from his mother and everything he knew – was terrifying.

“Not really,” Luke said after a moment of hesitation. “This will make Calum happy and you needed a clean break too… and it’s hardly like I have anywhere else to go, is it? My parents wouldn’t have me back if I begged them and my brothers are the same.” Luke’s usually-calm expression faltered with pain and Michael tightened his grip, his own discomfort forgotten in the face of the blond man’s grief.

“I’m sorry, Lukey,” he whispered as more tourists passed by outside the car, their laughter and voices strangely muffled through the windows. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” Luke insisted and it bothered Michael that he couldn’t tell whether the younger man was being honest or not. “It’ll be easier out here. A fresh start with my two favourite people on the planet. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.”

‘ _Calum’s bed_ ,’ the little voice whispered but Michael didn’t say it. He didn’t want to see Luke hurting.

“I think you’re right,” the red-haired man said instead, hoping beyond hope that his words were true. “Although, I have to admit, there’s a lot less here than I thought there’d be. Like… how do we _eat_?”

“The same way you always do, Mikey,” Luke said with glittering eyes. “You put a fork in one hand and a knife in the other - or do you just prefer eating with your fingers? I can never tell.”

“Oh, shut up!” Michael complained but at least he was smiling, the little voice silenced for now. “I mean getting groceries, you dork! Do we get them delivered all the way out here or…?”

“I doubt it,” the blond man said, nibbling his bottom lip worriedly although he seemed to be thinking hard. “I looked it up last night though. If I remember right, there should be a Sainsbury’s like an hour away in a place called… I think it’s Cockermouth?” Luke paused for Michael’s predictable snort of laughter before continuing. “That’s the closest supermarket to us. I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world if we had to go there to pick up our groceries.”

“There was a Tesco express round the corner from me back home,” Michael said glumly and Luke rolled his eyes at him.

“There were also takeaway food places,” the blond man pointed out. “Your world is changing, Mikey.”

“Oh, the horror!” the red-haired man cried dramatically. He sobered after a moment though, pulling a face. “An hour is pretty far though. You better not forget to buy toilet rolls or something.” Luke stuck his tongue out and Michael responded by copying him like the immature child he was. “I hope Calum enjoys spending all of his fancy new ranger wages on fuel.”

“You’re hilarious, Mikey,” Luke said dryly. “You see, we live in the _Lake District_ now. It’s kind of an expectation that we’re probably going to use a lot of petrol.”

“Calum’s vehicle’s emissions will single-handedly destroy this planet, Luke.”

“Very funny, Mike, but I think Trump is going to do that first.”

“What’s Trump done now?” Calum asked as he climbed back into the car with them, bringing with him the cold smell of the air outside as he spun their new door keys around his index finger triumphantly.

“Oh, just existed,” Michael said with a shrug. “Did the estate agent tell you the name of the place we're going then, Cal?” he continued sarcastically. “Because it'll be pretty hard to find it if the only directions we have are 'higher'. It wouldn’t be very helpful either. I mean, how on earth will the postman find our house to deliver our letters? We'll be cut off from the rest of the world!”

Calum rolled his eyes but his slight hesitation before answering sent warning bells ringing in the older man’s head.

“Our house is on a thoroughfare called Deadman’s Rise.”

Michael exchanged a vaguely horrified look with Luke as they processed that.

“Deadman’s Rise,” Michael repeated, his tone dripping with what _might_ have been contempt if his heart hadn’t been racing so unpleasantly at how unnecessarily creepy the name sounded. “Lovely.”

“They used to hang people up there I think,” Calum added and Michael shot him a withering look.

“Not helping, Calum.”


	2. the house in the forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone!  
> I wanted to thank you for your feedback last time and I hope you'll enjoy this update even more!  
> It was good to get the ball rolling and I'm very excited for you all to read this story :)  
> Enjoy <3

Michael thought he understood why the house had been so suspiciously cheap now. His dad would have had a _fit_ if he’d seen the state of it and Michael honestly wouldn’t have blamed him. A depressed silence saturated the car as they parked in the driveway and Michael could feel it settling in his bones as he stared hopelessly out of the window at their new house… or _old_ house, he supposed.

“So it still needs a bit of work,” Calum said optimistically, just as the wind picked up outside and a slate fell off the roof with a startling crash. Calum buried his head in his hands against the steering wheel. “Oh god, this is a disaster.”

“We’ll be okay, Cally,” Luke murmured although his blue eyes were vaguely horrified. “We’ll make this work.” He rubbed the tanned man’s shoulder gently and Calum relaxed a little, chewing his bottom lip worriedly as Luke gave him a wan smile. “It didn’t look like this the last time we came here, did it?” the blond man teased. Calum bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling.

“Maybe there was a storm,” he said.

‘ _Or maybe it was so badly built that it’s going to collapse on us in the night_ ,’ the little voice in Michael’s head said spitefully as he stared out of the window in appalled silence. He couldn’t even find it in himself to disagree and that was the worst part. The Victorian-era building looked _just_ as ancient as Michael had feared but, despite the estate agent insisting that it had undergone countless repairs and renovations, it still didn’t look like somewhere he particularly wanted to live.

The estate agent had called it a ‘charming family home in a pleasant location’ but, if this was the estate agent’s definition of the word ‘charming’ – with birds roosting in the rafters and a broken window on the side of the porch that needed to be boarded up – then she had clearly never looked in a dictionary before.

A low sigh escaped the older man as he slumped back in his seat, unwilling to get out of the car in case he got trapped here. Michael really hated that this was his first impression of their new home: that it looked like it might fall down on them in a particularly strong gust of wind. Ivy and other creepers climbed the cracked stone walls, and the heavy scent of petrichor from recent rain hung in the air, like something tangible almost… like something Michael could reach out and grab.

He didn’t think he knew anyone who would be grateful to live in a place like this… except perhaps his mum. The house looked like the sort of a place a witch in a fairy-tale might live, stirring potions in a great iron cauldron and turning people into toads… not that witchcraft was actually anything like that at all but Michael wasn’t feeling especially forgiving right now, mainly because he didn’t want to get concussed by a falling roof slate.

The growing wind stirred through the branches of the surrounding trees and the clouds overhead were gathered, painted with a pinkish hue as the sun began its gradual descent behind the mountains. Michael shivered.

“Were you planning on getting out of the car any time today, Mikey, or are you going to make camp in here?”

Michael gave Calum a dirty look when he turned to find the younger man standing beside the open car door. The red-haired man hadn’t even noticed him or Luke getting out of the car, and the removal van had arrived too which bothered Michael a little because he wasn’t _usually_ so unobservant. Then again, he figured he had good reason to be distracted; they were moving into what looked like an incredibly tacky haunted house after all. Was this _really_ what Michael had spent so much of his inheritance from his grandpa on?

Calum’s brow creased at his best friend’s face and he shuffled awkwardly on his feet, readjusting his grip on the box he’d got out of the back of the car. It was filled with items that Calum had deemed too precious to be transported in the removal van currently parked alongside them on the long driveway – privately, Michael was pretty sure it just contained Calum’s beloved comics – but the tanned man’s head was tilted to one side curiously now and Michael didn’t want either of his best friends turning into mother hens again. They’d been doing that enough during the painfully long drive here and he certainly didn’t want to be fussed over again.

“Alright, _alright_. I'm getting out,” the older man mumbled, bracing himself for the inevitable pain as he unwillingly released his seat belt. Shifting towards the open door was uncomfortable but actually putting weight on his leg took Michael’s breath away and the red-haired man leant hard against the car door, swallowing down the curse that wanted to escape him. His back was aching badly after so long sitting down and Luke appeared nearby, his pale face concerned in the dimming light as Michael stretched his spine out with an audible crack that made Calum wince.

“That's gas popping,” Luke said helpfully, smiling broadly when Michael fixed him with what Calum lovingly referred to as his ‘crocodile eyes’ – basically meaning that Michael could pull off an unnerving blank stare _really_ well when he wanted to – but Luke’s grin faded when he saw Michael limping over to grab a box out of the car too.

“No way,” the blond man said instantly, his voice so firm that Calum glanced back towards them in surprise from where he’d been heading towards the house. The front door was already wide open – the dark-haired man must have unlocked it without Michael noticing _that_ too – and Michael’s shoulders slumped when he saw the unhappy expression on Calum’s face.

“You can’t carry things with _your_ back, Mikey,” Luke said in a slightly softer voice. “I promised your mum I wouldn't let you do anything dumb to make it worse and I'm not planning on breaking that on the first day.”

“It’s just sciatica,” Michael argued weakly but even Calum was shaking his head now and Michael hung his head, his expression chagrined as the shame made his cheeks flush hot.

Luke patted him awkwardly on the arm before he collected his own box, following Calum up the low slope towards the house as the dark-haired man balanced his box of beloved comics carefully on top of a crate of crockery.

Michael kicked the tyre as hard as he could the moment their backs were turned before letting out a low curse, his cheeks flaming. His mindless viciousness hadn't made him feel any better; all he'd succeeded in doing was scuffing his Converse and jarring his back painfully. Now he was sort of starting to see why his mum had been so concerned at the prospect of him moving out, despite how much she’d tried to hide it.

Michael was a liability.

“Where are you going, Mike?” Calum called from the front door, free of boxes now as he moved aside to let one of the workers carry in two kitchen chairs stacked together. “Come inside, yeah?” Michael shook his head, forcing a smile onto his pale face despite how blotchy it had inevitably gone in his embarrassment.

“I'm gonna explore Deadman’s Rise if you guys won't let me help you!” Michael responded, trying to keep the sourness out of his voice although his words were probably too quiet to hear. Calum just gave him a long look before shrugging and going to grab another box which he carried swiftly into the house. When both of the younger men were out of sight, Michael exhaled shakily as the smile slipped from his face.

He loved his best friends to the moon and back but they could be more than a little overprotective sometimes... and besides, Michael wasn't a _baby_! It wasn't like he needed mollycoddling or... or having people tell him he wasn't healthy enough to pick a stupid _box_ up and... yeah, okay, Michael was kind of sulking now.

He shut the car door behind him hesitantly, lingering beside it with one small hand still pressed to the cool metal, feeling almost as though stepping away from it now would make him lose the last bit of where he had lived before. The wind was growing stronger as the sun sank behind the mountains and Michael shivered, wrapping his arms around himself tightly as he gazed apprehensively towards their new home. The feeling of foreboding making his anxiety tighten in his chest was undeniable.

He wished uselessly that he’d been able to come here with Luke and Calum when they’d visited. Even if his no-doubt acerbic commentary _hadn’t _dissuaded them from choosing this house, at least he would’ve been prepared for it. The reality of it now – with nothing but a vaguely blurry photo that barely filled up Calum’s phone screen to compare it to – was the reason Michael wasn’t exactly ecstatic at the prospect of the spooky-looking house crouched in front of him.__

It was built into the side of the hill, its windows dark and vacant as the dying sunlight painted them a gristly blood-red. The broken porch window had a great splintering crack in it that resembled a spider-web and Michael shuddered as he tore his eyes away. A gnarled old oak tree had erupted from the muddy, leaf-strewn ground beside the house and, even from this distance, Michael could hear its twigs scraping eerily across the panes of glass.

Michael hated it here so, _so_ much.

He turned his back on the house sullenly, fixing the removal workers carefully carrying their sofa inside with a baleful look. Michael didn't want to be here. He also didn't want to be _home_ though and that was where the real problem lay. Michael wasn’t welcome within a mile radius of his father and he’d grown tired of his mum fussing over him too, even if it _did_ come from a place of love. He’d been discussing with his counsellor the benefits of having a clean break for months now so, when Calum had finally been offered this job and Luke had agreed to go with him (because of _course_ he had), it had seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Now though, gazing around despairingly at the tangled snarl of forest edging the deserted road, Michael wasn’t so sure. It felt more like the beginning of a bad horror film instead.

The sunset stained the sky the colour of bruises overhead and the hairs on the back of Michael's neck rose the longer he stood there. There was something instinctive in him demanding in increasingly shrill tones that he grab Calum and Luke, and insist that they get back in the car and leave _now_ but… but that was just Michael’s inner child probably. He’d spoken to his counsellor about this; about his tendency to 'catastrophise' what was most likely not a very big deal at all. He blew everything out of proportion and freaked himself out over it, and it usually tended to work out fine.

Usually.

Michael should just stop watching terrible B-rated horror films probably. All they did was succeed in making him more than a little bit terrified of what could quite frankly turn into a _fantastic_ piece of property investment (and god, Michael was turning into his _dad_ now).

Running a hand through his dyed red hair ruefully, Michael fought down his guilt at leaving his friends to carry the boxes inside and looked back towards the dimly lit road again. Even despite the fact that the moon wasn’t yet visible, the first stars were already blinking to life overhead and the fresh scent of pine carried towards the twenty one year old on the cool, damp air.

Slowly, as he stood there beneath the darkening sky, Michael became aware of a low rumbling noise.

Frowning faintly, he limped down the long driveway towards the source of the sound, desperate for anything to distract him from how much he was regretting his decision to move here. He left the driveway behind completely, stepping from the dusty grey gravel onto the leaf-strewn pavement as he peered onto the narrow thoroughfare curiously.

The mysterious sound was growing steadily louder now and Michael shivered, looking around warily as he tried to place the noise. It was strange but the building roar seemed almost _familiar_ now and –

Oh.

A large truck thundered around the corner and Michael relaxed, feeling stupid for getting himself so worked up. The tension in his muscles made his back and leg ache painfully, and he grimaced, stretching carefully so that he wouldn't make his sciatica any worse than it already was after a long day of sitting huddled up in the car.

The truck was closer now, kicking up a mist of old rain-water and dust from whatever it was carrying, and Michael was so grateful to be out of the car after so many hours of driving – and Luke's _awful_ 'I Spy' games – that he raised one pale hand in an awkward greeting. The driver honked the horn at him in response as he drove past and Michael smiled wanly, his tired green eyes tracing the writing on the side as he realised it was coming from a place called Honister Slate Mine.

Michael watched the truck drive away with something like longing. He hadn't seen any other traffic at all for a long time now – as soon as they'd left Wasdale Head behind actually – and Michael almost wished he was in the cabin with the driver. The man was probably going home right now, heading back into one of the closest towns - almost twenty miles away from here. Maybe he had a family, a pet dog. Maybe he didn't feel so useless and _lost_ all the time.

Michael caught himself before his thoughts could _really_ spiral out of control, struggling to take in a deep breath as he concentrated on one of the exercises Eve had given him. He was supposed to focus on his surroundings and distract himself with anything even mildly interesting which was sometimes a lot more difficult than it sounded.

Michael's emerald eyes drifted a few hundred metres down the road towards the only other lived-in house on this side of Scafell Pike. Light glowed golden in the windows and he could hear the sound of a dog barking in the garden. Michael smelt cooking on the air – roasted chicken or maybe turkey wafting from the open kitchen windows – and he drifted a little closer despite himself as he tried to get a better look in the dim light. The building was tucked back from the road which was why Michael had only caught a brief glimpse of it on their drive up here and he wanted to see if it was the same style as their house was.

Their neighbours lived on the opposite side of the road, the tarmac between them littered with fallen debris from the forest, and beleaguered with so many potholes that Michael was reminded of the wear and tear inevitably caused by heavy trucks thundering past who knew how often.

Michael limped a little closer, taking in the sprawling double garage and the gleaming Land Rover parked in the driveway (and really, why did they need to show their car off if they had _two_ garages? It wasn’t like there was a great deal of foot traffic up here to be impressed by the frankly obnoxious shininess of the vehicle). There was a large conservatory just visible behind the house and some fairy lights had been strung up in the pine trees closest to the porch which made Michael think vaguely scathing things about the homeowners spending too much time trying to make their home Pinterest-worthy and not enough raking the leaves out of the road in front of their house.

Michael was already more than halfway down the road towards the building when he happened to glance to his right and noticed, with no small amount of surprise, that there was a third house on Deadman’s Rise. He hadn’t seen it on the drive up but that didn't exactly surprise him now; the driveway was overgrown with ferns and what looked like thorny blackberry bushes, and a fallen pine tree lay across the cracked flagstones of the driveway.

Michael shivered at the sight of the forest reclaiming its land. He knew that, within a hundred years, the house would probably be hidden from sight completely, buried beneath plants and wind and rain… all but gone from the world. The ivy eating into the house’s brickwork would cause it to crumble and the pines would soar around it, and the weeds would break through the cracks in the flagstones and hide the evidence that anyone had ever lived there at all.

It made Michael feel strangely _mortal_ and he shuddered as he looked around him, taking in the ancient forest and the timeless mountains forcing their way out of the earth, and feeling smaller and more insignificant with every second. He felt as though no one should be here at all.

The House In The Forest – as Michael had already fancifully nicknamed it, probably because he’d read too much Lord Of The Rings as a child (despite his taunt to Calum earlier that day) – didn’t look like the other houses on Deadman’s Rise at all. While their neighbouring house was nothing short of quaint and their own house was adequate, if slightly dilapidated, the building in front of Michael now didn’t look lived in at all although the red-haired man wasn’t sure why this surprised him. There was basically nothing within walking distance – unless walking distance was two miles and the homeowners wanted to visit the bar or purchase outdoor supplies (which, admittedly, might be useful looking at the state of their driveway) – and Michael couldn’t imagine how they’d get a car out of the driveway with the fallen tree in the way.

The building – partially obscured behind the thick branches of the overhanging trees but still visible if you knew it was there – was decrepit (and _that_ was putting it kindly). Most of the windows were smashed and the paint on the front door was peeling away in flakes, a great scrape across the panelling like a wild animal had fought to get in.

Goosebumps rose on Michael's arms as he stepped hesitantly into the driveway – and if he instantly regretted reminding himself of the book series with the same name the moment he thought of that then he didn't have to admit it to anyone – and he squinted through the darkness, taking in the broken fence panels edging the wildly overgrown garden and the way the rusting washing line was spinning in a slow circle all by itself on the breeze.

Michael saw a sudden glimmer of movement from one of the windows in his peripheral vision and he jerked his head up in fright, completely startled. There was no one in sight of course and the red-haired man immediately chastised himself for being such a baby; he'd probably just startled a bird or a squirrel in one of the pine trees close to the house. There was no _way_ anyone still lived in that broken-down house.

Michael forced a faint wry smile onto his face as he realised that he really _was_ jumpy tonight. In truth though, he felt pathetic; his heart was still racing painfully in his chest and he'd broken out in a cold sweat. His sciatica was making his knee throb painfully and that tiny pessimistic little voice in Michael's head cheerfully reminded him that, if the situation called for it, he wouldn't be able to run away. Shuddering again, the red-haired man dragged his gaze from the crumbling building and started the slow walk back to their new home instead, still struggling to calm his frantic heartbeat.

The air smelt fresher and cleaner out on the road again – he hadn't noticed it at the time but the dark house had had an almost stagnant air about it which only made itself apparent afterwards – and Michael tried his counsellor's exercise again, this time with more success.

He could hear magpies calling to each other in the surrounding trees; he could taste petrichor on the breeze; he could see their new home built into the slopes leading up to Scafell Pike; he could see the surrounding, rolling hills hidden beneath pine trees; he could hear a small animal skittering in the undergrowth as the few streetlights nearby began to flicker on. The overhanging tree branches caught most of the light and Michael walked through the dappled shade carefully, his pulse slowly calming in his veins.

The sky was already drifting towards a deep indigo and Michael realised for the first time how _dark_ it was likely to get out here; the mountains were going to block a lot of moonlight at certain times of the month and there were barely any other houses around so there would be little light pollution.

Absently, Michael thought his grandpa would have loved living out here. Jack had always enjoyed stargazing through his telescope before and he'd complained constantly that there was too much light in the retirement complex he had lived in.

Michael hung his head as he walked slowly back towards his driveway, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as the sadness unfurled inside him. It had been six months since his grandpa had passed away now and he'd left everything he had to his only grandson: all his money, his car (although Daryl Clifford had taken this after the ‘disappearance’ of his own vehicle)... even his telescope.

His _telescope_.

Michael’s face lit up and he quickened his pace as much as he was able, hurrying back down the shadowy road towards where Calum’s car was parked in the driveway. Michael had stowed the telescope safely under one of the back seats in its case and, although Calum and Luke had told him he wasn't allowed to lift any boxes, Michael decided this didn't count… and besides, it was _far_ too precious for him to countenance someone else having the responsibility of bringing it into the house.

If one of them dropped it – Michael’s last tangible thing from his grandpa – he was likely to never speak to them again.

The twenty one year old unlocked the car and bent down carefully in the deserted driveway. The night had rushed in now like ink spreading in water and the removal van was long gone. Dimly, Michael wondered how long he'd been alone.

He lifted the case with only a mild twinge of pain and, counting that as a win, the red-haired man followed his best friends inside. Light was streaming from the windows now – which, Michael had to admit, made the place look a lot more appealing – and the warmth enveloped the red-haired man as he let himself carefully into the house which at least meant the central heating was working.

Michael locked the front door securely behind him and let out a low breath that he hadn't even realised he'd been holding in, setting the telescope carefully at the foot of the stairs in its case. He was just in time too because Luke and Calum appeared in what seemed to be the living room doorway at that moment, worry and relief etched into their shadowy faces as they blocked the light from entering the hallway.

“Michael, where _were_ you?!” Luke demanded, his voice several octaves too high which was _never_ a good thing as it usually tended to imply that the blond man was ever so slightly stressed. “You were gone for over two hours!”

“I'm sorry if I... Wait, _what_? No, I wasn't!” Michael argued but his green eyes widened as he glanced towards the dark sky outside. “I... I swear I only walked down the road.” Calum pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger like he had the beginnings of a headache, and Michael's guilt crashed over him like a wave.

“I must have got distracted,” he said and he felt small standing in front of them now, like he'd disappointed them somehow… like they were his _parents_. “I'm sorry if I worried you. I promise I'm fine.”

“How's your back? Your leg?” Luke pressed and Michael managed a faint smile that hopefully disguised his tears lodging themselves in his throat. Michael's eyes shone too brightly in the dim light and Calum hummed sadly when he saw the misery there, wrapping his arm warmly around the red-haired man's shoulders as he led Michael into the living room.

“You're shivering, Mikey. Do you want me to make a cup of tea?” Calum suggested gently. “Luke did an excellent job of unpacking the mugs and stuff in the kitchen.”

“I tidy faster when I'm worrying,” Luke said pointedly but he looked slightly mollified now and Michael relaxed, aware and relieved that he had been forgiven.

Despite the living room obviously being a long way from complete, he liked it all the same. Luke's old cracked leather sofa was pressed against the far side of the room and Calum's flat screen TV - literally his pride and joy (after his extensive comic collection at least) - was just waiting to be mounted on the wall opposite. The DVD rack was already set up in the corner and an old lamp Calum had found in a charity shop stood crookedly nearby, the tassels hanging from the lampshade swaying gently from where they’d stirred the air entering the room.

Michael could see their dining table and chairs through a wide arch that separated the two rooms, and there was a serving hatch in one wall that showed a brightly lit kitchen. A rug Michael's mum had donated was spread out on the grey panelled wood which made a lump rise in his throat and there was a low coffee table nearby too, currently home to Luke’s precious peace lily which was sitting proudly in the centre, its waxy white petals catching the yellow light filling the room. Two mismatched armchairs had been pulled up to the low table where a pair of half-drunk mugs of tea sat.

Clearly, this was the meeting point when they wanted to discuss Michael's general well-being in anxious voices. Michael had wondered where that would be in this house. Back in London, it had been the Costa down the street where the pair of them purchased overpriced frappes and tried to be serious while wearing whipped cream moustaches.

Fighting to suppress the agitation Michael could feel at them babying him _again_ , the red-haired man dragged a straight-backed chair over from the dining room - Luke squawked in concern and Calum sighed heavily - and sank down onto it, letting out a low sigh as he took the weight off his aching leg. His sciatica made sitting on something comfortable like a _sofa_ impossibly painful so Michael always had to do this… always had to sit apart from everyone else while trying to keep the pain off his face.

“I'll boil the kettle again,” Luke said after a moment of awkward silence and the red-haired man sighed heavily, wondering what his poor friends had let themselves in for when they’d assured him they’d be ecstatic if he moved in with them. Calum was watching Michael like he knew what the older man was thinking and, after a second of hesitation, the dark-haired man came to sit on the arm of the sofa beside Michael, his dark curls just unruly enough that it became apparent he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly. (Maybe Luke wasn't the _only_ one who had been stressed at Michael vanishing for so long.)

“You feeling okay, Mikey bear?” Calum asked softly, his chocolate brown eyes warm and familiar. They'd been close since they were just five years old, almost a decade before Luke had come onto the scene, and Calum only used that nickname when he was feeling _very_ fond. Clearly he was more relieved than he'd let on at Michael’s sudden reappearance. “You're very quiet.” Calum's full lips twitched into a smile as he nudged Michael lightly with his elbow. “You're not homesick _already_ , are you?”

“Not a chance, Hood,” Michael retorted, managing a wry smile. His eyes flickered towards the large bay windows overlooking their dark driveway and the older man shivered fractionally, twisting his fingers together in his lap. He would have felt _fine_ if he didn't suddenly feel like someone was watching him (and god, Michael _really_ needed to stop watching horror films). “I saw this other house earlier... when I was out walking.”

“Yeah, I saw it on the drive up too,” Calum said, reaching for Michael's Stormtrooper mug on the coffee table and taking a sip of what remained of his drink. (Michael didn't think he was allowed to be annoyed that Luke had used his mug without asking; he _had_ been presumed MIA at the time after all.) “It's the same size as ours with a big garage, right? They had a Land Rover outside I think.”

Michael shook his head instantly.

“No. Well... I mean _yes_ \- there is a house like that but... I meant a different one. On our side of the road. It's literally like a hundred metres in that direction right now,” Michael said, jerking his thumb to the right.

“What?” Calum's eyebrow rose and he fixed his best friend with a curious look, pursing his lips doubtfully. “That's funny. I didn't see another one when we drove in.”

“But that's just it!” Michael exclaimed with something that was _almost_ excitement. “I didn't see it either at first! But it's there I promise; it's just further back from the road. A tree's fallen over its driveway so it's quite obscured. That's probably why we didn't see it…” Michael's explanation trailed away as Luke re-appeared with a mug of tea for the older man - he'd brewed _this_ one in his favourite Joseph And The Technicolor Dreamcoat mug (and, really, Michael was going to _have_ to talk to him about his mug choices, even if this _was_ clearly the blond man extending an olive branch). Luke dropped down onto the sofa beside them with a weary sigh, letting his head fall to rest on Calum's knee.

“Aww,” the dark-haired man said teasingly, patting Luke on the cheek. "Is baby Lukey tired already?"

“Shut up. I just unpacked _so_ much of our stuff,” Luke grumbled but he looked pleased all the same, especially when Michael reached over to stroke his blond hair too, running his fingers through it hesitantly the way he did to his family’s cat Teddy’s fur back home. “You guys suck so bad.”

Michael hid his smug smile behind the rim of his mug as he took a sip and Luke looked calmer when Calum rubbed the blond man's broad shoulder soothingly.

“So... what were you guys talking about while I was in the kitchen?” Luke asked, the curiosity in his eyes mostly buried under weariness now. He looked like he was in sore need of sleep. “You sounded like you were arguing.”

“Not arguing," Calum disagreed mildly. “We were just debating something." When Luke raised an eyebrow curiously, Calum's lips twitched into a smile. "Mikey says there's a house down the road that none of us noticed before. He found it when he was exploring.”

“That's funny," Luke said, sitting slowly upright. “I didn't see one when we drove in.”

“That's exactly what I said!" Calum crowed triumphantly.

Rolling his eyes and trying to fight off the irrational urge to start sulking again, Michael sipped more of his drink and refused to comment, at least until Calum asked him what the house looked like.

“Old,” Michael replied, after a slight hesitation. “Or just not taken care of since I imagine all the houses here were built at the same time.” Luke mouthed: ' _Estate agent's son_ ' then and Michael ignored him. “It doesn't look very safe though.”

“Huh,” Calum said, glancing in the direction Michael had pointed earlier. “That's odd. How could you see that much from the road?”

Michael's cheeks coloured and he braced himself for his best friends' inevitable squawking. "Well... I kind of went down the driveway a little... just to see what was down there, you know?"

“Michael, that was dangerous!" Luke said instantly, predictable as ever. "You just said it didn't look safe so why would you do that? What if some crazy person lives there or -” He faltered when Calum elbowed him hard in the ribs and Michael looked away, cheeks colouring.

“Pretty sure no one lives there anymore... and I think you'll be safe, Luke. The only crazy person around here is me.” He spoke quietly, tried to make a joke of it but it fell painfully flat. His best friends knew he had issues with his mental health but that he didn't like to talk about it. Luke flinched when he realised what he'd done. Michael just stared down blankly into his tea.

"Sorry," Luke whispered, reaching out to pat Michael's knee although he withdrew his hand when the older man pulled away sharply. "Mikey, I'm _sorry_ ," Luke said imploringly.

Michael just sniffed, shrugging jerkily and trying to pretend that the action _hadn't_ sent pain shooting down his back.

“Doesn't matter,” Michael muttered but, abruptly, he was tired of the day. He didn't want to stay here with either of them for a moment longer; he didn't even want to have a shower or unpack. He just wanted to go to _sleep_.

“Did you guys choose which bedrooms you wanted already?” he asked and Calum nodded, lips pressed together silently. He looked deeply unhappy about the way the evening was going and Michael wanted to tell them that he was sorry for making them feel uneasy but... he wasn't.

“We played rock-paper-scissors for the rooms but you weren't here,” Calum lied, his tongue pressing into the side of his cheek which was a tell that he wasn’t telling the truth. “You ended up with the room downstairs. Sorry, Mike.” Luke relaxed a little - probably because he wasn't the one who'd told Michael - and the older man nodded silently, trying to pretend that he _didn't_ feel like a cripple who wasn't capable of climbing the stairs on his own (and if this _was_ the case during particularly bad days, Michael wasn't feeling reasonable enough to appreciate that right now).

“I'm tired. I'm going to bed.” Michael wouldn't meet their eyes. “Is my stuff -”

“Already in there,” Luke said quickly, apparently keen to make amends. “I left your medicine out for you on your side table... and I’ve tried to put the bags with your clothes in by the wardrobe. There’s… there’s not a bathroom downstairs though unfortunately. You'll have to come upstairs for showers and stuff but…”

"No, I won't," Michael said, making Luke fall silent as his already-pale face grew ashen. "I'm never going to shower again. That'll teach you to give my mug to Cal, won't it?"

The blond man relaxed visibly as a bright smile lit up his face. Beside him, Calum let out a bark of surprised laughter.

“If you stop showering then I'm moving out,” Luke said instantly. “You'll smell like Stig of the Dump within a week.”

“Well, _you_ smell like him already,” Michael countered but he felt calmer now; _happier_ almost because both of his best friends were smiling again and this was the clean break they needed.

“Both of you better stay away from me if you stink that bad then,” Calum said cheerfully, looking deeply relieved that the red-haired man had cheered up now. His expression abruptly became excited as he remembered something. “Oh, Mikey, I didn’t get a chance to show you! While you were out, I was having a look through the cupboards down here and trying to see what storage space we have available -” ‘ _Probably for his comics_ ,’ Michael thought wryly. “- and I found some old Polaroids of the people who I guess used to live here? I thought they were pretty cool so let me know when you want to have a look at them together. It’s kind of awesome how much history this place has.”

“It sounds it,” Michael said quietly but it didn’t feel like sarcasm. It was nice to see Calum so enthusiastic about something that _wasn’t_ becoming a ranger and it meant a lot that the pair of them were both trying so hard to make him happy. “I’ll have a look at them when I get up or something,” he added, feeling a little worm of guilt as they both smiled at him with relief. Michael sighed softly. “I love you guys,” he murmured, biting his bottom lip awkwardly. “I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult today. I’m just…”

"A drama queen," Calum interjected, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "But it just so happens that we love you too, Mikey, okay? Even if you _are_ crazy."

Luke cringed and Michael rolled his eyes but the fondness on his face was undeniable.

"You never know when to shut up, do you, Hood?" the red-haired man asked softly.

Calum gave the pair of them his best smile.

"It's my only redeeming feature," he said cheerfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please let me know what you think <3


	3. the book of shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the wait but I hope you like this update!  
> It changed a lot from the draft I had written so I'm not sure how I feel about it but hopefully you'll like it!

Michael woke with a low groan, the pained sound torn from him as he became aware of the familiar stabbing pain in his lower back and knee. Michael stared up at the ceiling unseeingly, his jaw tight with pain, his dull green eyes blank. He could already feel his depression unfurling like a fog and, gritting his teeth against the pain, Michael pushed himself weakly into a sitting position and reached for the bottle of tablets Luke had thoughtfully left on his bedside table beside the spell jar Karen had gifted him.

There were unpacked cardboard boxes of possessions piled all over the room and Michael’s eyes drifted over them distractedly as he tipped two of the painkillers into his shaking palm. He cursed softly when he realised he’d forgotten to bring a glass of water in with him the night before but he was too proud to call to his friends for help… and besides, he thought as he dry-swallowed the tablets with a grimace, they were probably still sleeping anyway. The pair of them had had a long day unpacking the house yesterday and there was still a ridiculous amount to do of course.

Michael considered that as he glowered around at his new room, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. The usual feeling of guilt that accompanied him when he took them wasn’t present today and the red-haired man relished in it as his eyes tracked his bedroom miserably.

Even after a long night’s sleep, he didn’t like the place any more in the daylight. It was messy and disorganised, and some of the labels had fallen off the cardboard boxes he’d packed so he knew it would be _ages_ before he located all of his things.

A yawn escaped him and Michael groaned again, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth as the dull ache of pain finally began to ebb. He hadn’t slept well the night before and that made him grouchy (or grouchier than usual, depending on who was being asked).

The smaller, more reasonable part of his brain didn't find it particularly surprising that he felt so unhappy in his current surroundings. Michael never slept well in a new place, especially when he'd been that anxious in the evening before going to sleep. He felt weird sleeping downstairs, probably because he wasn't used to having a bedroom so far away from everyone else, and he missed his old room a lot more than he cared to admit.

For a moment, Michael wanted to be back in his bedroom at his parents' house. He missed the too-narrow bed with its faded quilt and lumpy mattress, and the pin board on his wall covered with curling postcards of all the places he wanted to travel to, and all of the stuffed toys he totally _didn’t_ have stowed away in one of the boxes that the removal men had left in the hallway. (Michael refused to let Calum and Luke judge him for that; Luke had a blue rabbit toy that he automatically sat on the lap of whoever was riding shotgun in their car and, to reiterate Michael's previous point, Calum had a box of comics and action figures. He would not be made to feel guilty for transporting Madame Snuggles and her assortment of farmyard friends to the new house. No _way_.)

The wind picked up outside - it had been doing that all night long, howling eerily in the rafters like a bad sound effect from a werewolf film - and the branches of the oak tree growing beside the house scratched gratingly across the glass of the window. Michael jumped but, despite tensing up immediately afterwards, the pain wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Luckily his tablets seemed to have kicked in pretty quickly today.

Michael let his duvet fall back onto the mattress and shivered at the cool air in his room. Already he was realising that the house was naturally very cold and draughty - not exactly a good thing for someone who suffered with sciatica although Michael figured he'd just have to wrap up warm - and he didn't exactly love the fact that he'd been able to hear the fridge humming all night long from the next room either.

None of it was especially conducive to a good night's rest.

Michael decided that, in order for him to continue living here without _really_ losing his mind, he was going to have to do something about his sleeping conditions... like buying more quilts to spread over his duvet and purchasing some earplugs to drown out the noise of the fridge... or by drinking very strong cold medicine every night before he fell asleep.

Still dwelling vaguely on abusing over-the-counter pharmaceutical products with a slight smirk on his face, Michael rose stiffly from the bed and struggled over to the closest of the boxes piled nearby. Since he was fairly certain the others were still asleep and he had no particular desire to sit alone in the kitchen, Michael figured it might be worth starting to sort through some of his belongings so that they would be in some semblance of order when he felt awake enough to actually begin tidying them away.

The first box he looked in held old books he’d loved during his childhood and teenage years - Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, and the Skulduggery Pleasant series which Michael had _adored_ \- and the one beside it was full of his old art supplies which had seemed like a good idea back home but only seemed like a waste of space now.

Still frowning vaguely, Michael limped around the pile and found a smaller box behind them, taped down carefully with no label in sight. Unable to recall what he’d packed in it, Michael lifted it carefully - surprised by how heavy it was - and toyed with the tape, working what remained of a fingernail beneath it so that he could prise it open. His eyes widened in surprise when he finally managed it and a note fluttered out, written in his mum’s delicate script.

 

_Mikey bear, I hope aren’t missing me too much… but if you are, I hope this will help. You know how healing I’ve always found witchcraft and that I don’t often have the time to do it anymore. It seems a shame to let those spells go forgotten. I think perhaps it will help you too._

_Inside this box, I have sealed my Book Of Shadows, and an assortment of ingredients and items to get you started. Don’t feel obligated but don’t discount it immediately. I know what you’re like, my stubborn boy. But I think this will help you. I think it will make us closer._

_Try setting up an altar. Try your hand at making a spell jar (and be patient! They never look beautiful first time around. It’s what’s inside that counts!) Try burning certain candles to calm yourself or give you energy. Draw sigils to help you focus. Use witchcraft to help yourself heal._

_Until I see you next time. Love mum. xxx_

 

Michael sat on the edge of his bed heavily, his eyes prickling with tears although a strange feeling was spreading through his chest. It took the twenty one year old a moment to identify it as happiness.

His hands were shaking as he carefully spread the ingredients and items out on his quilt. There was a small cast iron cauldron for burning things in safely, a neatly labelled athame which seemed to be some sort of fancy black-handled knife, a collection of different crystals that he would sort through properly later, some incense cones and a sage smudging stick, some wooden candle holders along with a large box of multi-coloured spell candles, a kit of individually labelled little bags of herbs, a bag of sea salt, and a surprising number of little glass jars which were presumably for Michael to use to create his own spell jars with if he felt the need.

His heart felt too big for his chest as he gazed down at them but the thing that finally made his tears boil over was when his trembling hands settled on his mum’s beloved Book of Shadows. She’d been adding to it for as long as he could remember, constantly jotting new spells and ideas down or doodling little diagrams in the margin; the sequence of the moon or the precise shape of a leaf, labelled and neatly coloured in. She hated to be parted from it but here it was, hundreds and hundreds of miles away because she trusted him to keep it safe for her.

He raised it to his face shakily, closing his eyes to keep his tears in as he inhaled deeply. It smelt like spices; like apples and rosemary and marjoram… like his mother.

Michael packed everything away methodically, letting his fingertips brush the cool steel of the athame and the polished surface of the crystals; the gentle clinking of the glass jars and the smooth wax of the spell candles in their little cardboard bed. He put the book away last of all, his palm lingering on the cracked brown cover as he inhaled shakily.

It had made him feel stronger reading the note and discovering the box, and he was so grateful to Karen. Deciding to follow in his mum’s footsteps now had made him feel a hundred times stronger, just like remembering his grandpa’s telescope had yesterday. It made Michael feel like maybe not _everything_ about living here was awful.

It gave him hope.

Michael limp was less pronounced than usual as he shuffled out into the hallway and that gave him cheer too, the thought that maybe he wouldn’t even _need_ to use his cane again. Maybe he was on an upward spiral now and his back would feel fine for _weeks_ , like it had that one summer just over a year ago when he’d been able to walk into town unaided and free of pain. Maybe Michael would be able to walk down into Wasdale Head and go exploring without the worry of him getting stranded somewhere, in too much agony to walk alone. Maybe moving here was just what he needed.

It wasn’t to be though.

A burning twinge danced up Michael’s left leg and he gritted his teeth against it as he leant against the banister of the stairs for a moment, exhaling in a hiss of pained breath. He could hear Luke singing softly to himself in the kitchen - probably something from whatever musical he was currently obsessed with which _might_ have been ‘Fame’ - and the low pounding of the shower against the tiles upstairs made Michael sigh irritably. Calum must have got there first.

‘ _Too slow. That’s what you get for being a cripple._ ’

Shaking his head almost violently in an attempt to ignore the spiteful whisper in his head, Michael struggled into the living room and looked around it dispassionately. The morning light was stark and pale against the dark wood of the room, and the lack of personal items in there just looked sad now. Even Luke’s precious peace lily was drooping a little at its change of scenery and Michael glanced at it unhappily, making a mental note to remind the blond man to water it later before it died and he went into mourning.

The Polaroids Calum had mentioned last night were scattered across the coffee table too and Michael looked at them briefly before his eyes settled on one in particular. Michael picked it up and peered at it in the dim light, taking in the sight of a little family standing together in what must have been their new home at the time the picture was taken. The mother and father had their arms wrapped around each other lovingly, and the little boy at the front was giving a big dimpled smile beneath a mop of curls. Michael let the picture fall back onto the table, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip again.

He was trying not to think vaguely bitter things about how _happy_ that family looked but it was difficult in comparison to his own. He bet that little boy had grown up into a healthy, cheerful man with his whole life ahead of him. Michael bet that little boy’s dad had never once tried to hurt him.

Not like Daryl.

A sad sigh escaped the red-haired man and Luke’s soft singing faltered from the kitchen.

“Mike? Is that you?” the blond man called suddenly and Michael snorted as he followed the sound of the blond man's voice.

“ _Michael isn't here anymore_ ,” the older man said in the scariest voice he could manage, eager for any distraction at all as he hid in the dining room beneath the serving hatch that looked into the kitchen. (His voice came out sounding like he had a sore throat which wasn't quite what he'd been aiming for and this was only cemented when Luke started giggling.) “ _I am the ghost of... uh... some old white guy. Prepare to die._ ”

“Please don't kill me!” Luke wailed dramatically but the smile was audible in his voice. “I'll make you toast if you don't kill me. I'll even juice you an orange.”

Michael considered this from where he was lurking as a smile curved his lips.

“Throw in some scrambled eggs and you have yourself a deal,” he said, forgetting to growl this time. Luke giggled and Michael straightened up, frowning when he saw the blond man staring suspiciously towards where the kitchen door was slightly ajar.

“You'll be so lucky, Mike,” Luke was saying, still facing the wrong direction. He was wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas and his hair was damp like he'd already showered that morning. Apparently Luke wasn’t interested in having a lie-in when there was still so much to do. “I was actually going to ask you and Calum to go grocery shopping this morning while I finished unpacking the kitchen. We don't have any eggs yet... or milk... or coffee…”

“No coffee, huh?” Michael asked sourly. “What a nightmare.”

Luke spun round in shock, hand flying to cover his heart as he stared at his best friend with wide eyes, the alarm plain on his ashen face.

“Oh my god,” Luke said faintly, leaning heavily back against the counter. “I thought you were in the doorway. Who the hell did I just see then?”

“Must be your eyes playing tricks on you,” Michael said, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner although the younger man's words had made something uneasy unfurl in his stomach as he remembered the unpleasant feeling of being watched the night before. “It was probably just a shadow, Lukey. Now stop freaking us both out, okay?” The older man disappeared from the serving hatch momentarily as he walked round into the kitchen. “Now how about we make that orange juice instead, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luke said but he still looked uncertain. “Yeah, have a look for the juicer in that box over there please.” When Michael went off to do as he was told, Luke managed a weak smile. “I hope you and Calum don't mind drinking juice out of wine glasses. I haven't found the plastic cups yet and I didn't wash the mugs last night.”

“You're letting the team down, Lukey,” Calum said as he padded into the kitchen, a towel slung low around his hips as he rifled through one of the boxes on the counter, emerging triumphantly a moment later with a pint glass. Calum filled it with water and Michael rolled his eyes at his oldest friend as Calum leant there, muscular chest still glinting with drops of water as Luke tried to pretend that he wasn't staring at him.

“Any particular reason you've come downstairs to show off your body?” Michael asked sweetly. Calum gave him the finger but Michael's smile grew when he saw the dark-haired man's eyes flickering hopefully towards Luke. The pair were growing more smitten with every passing day and Michael currently had a wager running with both lots of their siblings over who would confess their feelings first.

“Not really,” Calum said with an amiable shrug. He downed the water in one go and answered Michael's questioning look with an annoyingly cheerful smile. “So… what’s the plan today, guys?”

“Well, I was just telling Mikey,” Luke said after a long moment, his eyes still tracing the dark-haired man’s chest although he dragged his gaze away with difficulty. “I… uh…” Luke closed his eyes for a moment and Calum’s smirk widened. “I was going to send you and Mikey shopping while I sorted the kitchen. Then I figured I might cycle down to Wasdale Head, see if I can talk with the manager at the Inn. If they don’t have any availability there, I’ll probably head to Nether Wasdale tomorrow. The hotels there seem like they’ll be more likely to need staff.”

“That’s a good idea,” Calum said, looking ridiculously proud as a drop of water ran down into his collarbone. Luke’s wide blue eyes tracked it unashamedly and Calum blushed, clearing his throat awkwardly. “What about you, Mikey? When are you going to look at work?”

Michael jerked his head up like a rabbit in the headlights, unused to being the centre of attention when Calum and Luke were dancing around each other like this. His cheeks heated and he frowned at the floor as he tried to think of an answer that would placate them. Unfortunately, his words were woefully inadequate.

“Um… I mean I have grandpa’s inheritance so I’m not really rushing right now,” the red-haired man mumbled, shrugging awkwardly. Luke pursed his lips unhappily when he heard that and Calum looked so disappointed in him that Michael pressed his lips together hard in an effort not to lose his temper. After all, he knew it wasn’t _their_ fault that they wanted what they thought was ‘best’ for him… and how were they to know that the expression they wore was the exact one that twisted his father’s face whenever he looked at his only son? How were they to know that everything they did made Michael feel like he wasn’t good enough for them?

He could feel his eyes filling rapidly with angry tears and, apparently able to sense it, Luke turned to Calum with something like alarm on his face.

“Forget work!” the blond man said quickly, tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. “Just talk about something else. _Anything_ else!”

“Um…” Calum’s dark eyes widened as he blatantly panicked and it might have been _funny_ if Michael’s heart hadn’t ached in his chest. “Uh… Well, I went for a run earlier - just on the slopes leading up to Scafell Pike, y’know? - and I had a look for that house you mentioned yesterday, Mikey. Had a look on my way back.”

“Did you see it?” Luke asked but he looked a little calmer now that the red-haired man was watching them both curiously. Calum bit his bottom lip awkwardly, apparently silently berating himself for choosing _this_ topic to distract his oldest friend.

“I couldn’t see it,” Calum said and it was almost apologetic. “I slowed down and everything. There’s just forest.”

“It was pretty far back from the road,” Michael muttered, finally daring to speak and cringing at how rough his voice sounded. No one answered though and, when he dragged his eyes up warily, he discovered that Calum’s distraction had been caused by Luke pressing a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice into his hand.

“How are your calves after all that running uphill?” Luke asked innocently and Calum's dimples creased his cheeks as he lifted the towel a little, glancing down at them with something that was _almost_ self-effacing.

“I don't know,” he said innocently. “How do they look?”

“Pretty good, Cal,” Luke said, nodding his head knowledgeably like he had a single clue what 'good' calf muscles looked like. “You look _fit_ ,” the blond man said before promptly blushing scarlet. “Like... you know... to be able to run up... up a mountain... um…”

“I didn't run up the _whole_ mountain, Lukey,” Calum said modestly but his cheeks were reddening as he blushed too. “Just some of the way.” Calum's face suddenly lit up. “Hey, you know what? You should come with me one day, Lukey! It could be fun!”

Luke snorted but his expression was undeniably fond. “Nah, you're alright, Cal. I don't like you enough to do that. I mean, have you ever seen me _willingly_ do exercise?”

Calum raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as he drank his juice. Luke watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed and his cheeks heated pink when he realised Calum had seen him.

“I bet _I_ can think of exercise you'd do willingly,” the dark-haired man smirked but, before Luke could melt into an embarrassed puddle on the floor, Michael coughed to get their attention.

Watching the pair of them jump about ten feet in the air might have been _amusing_ if he didn't feel so annoyed at being left out.

“Uh... guys? You know I'm still in the room, right?” Michael muttered, his weak smile fading from his face when Calum took a guilty step away from Luke. Michael sighed softly. “Luke wants me and you to go grocery shopping this morning, Cal, remember? We should get ready for the stupidly long trek there since the supermarket is basically on the other side of the planet.”

“ _Oh_ , I - Yeah, I mean... Sure.”

“Good.” Michael pushed away from the counter, biting his bottom lip hard when his back ached in protest. “I'm going to go shower and then I'll be ready, okay?”

“That's fine,” Calum said slowly, his voice soft now, like he could tell that Michael was upset again. “Will you be alright showering? You don't hurt too bad?”

Michael closed his eyes for a moment, fighting down on the shame welling up inside him.

“I'll be fine, Calum.”

The red-haired man was almost to the doorway by the time Luke broke the awkward quiet that had fallen.

“What about your orange juice, Mikey?” the blond man asked softly, his tone slightly wounded now. Michael's shoulders slumped and he smiled humourlessly although of course neither of his best friends could see it.

“Give it to Calum,” he said bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I hope you liked it and I can't wait to write the next one <3  
> Ashton will be in it!!!


	4. the man in the mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for you all to meet Ashton!  
> Fingers crossed you'll enjoy this <3

Michael emerged blinking into the cool grey light of Saturday morning with a grumble. His wet hair was dripping into his eyes from under one of Luke's beanies and, no matter how many layers he bundled up in, it was impossible to feel warm due to his lovely friends using up all of the hot water before he’d had a chance to shower.

Michael was standing on the porch now, shoulders hunched and arms folded tightly across his chest as he huddled up in the thick grey hoodie he was wearing under last year’s frayed denim jacket. He hadn't been able to find his winter coat in the boxes yet so this would have to do. The twenty one year old was wearing a pout too; he could _feel_ it but it wasn't easy to stop when Calum had just disappeared into the house to say goodbye to Luke again.

“Calum! Hurry up!” Michael yelled, thumping on the open door with the flat of his palm. The dark-haired man appeared after a few moments, shaking his head and heaving a heavy sigh when he saw his best friend's face.

“Stop glowering at me, Mike, and shut the door, okay? You're letting all the heat out.” Calum spoke so smartly that Michael simply gaped at his best friend wordlessly. Smirking a tiny bit, the dark-haired man rolled his chocolate-coloured eyes and jumped lightly down the wooden steps so that he could open the garage. “I'm going to get the car out and move a couple of boxes around so they'll be easier to bring inside later but I'll be done in like ten minutes, grumpy. Just don't run off this time, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Michael muttered, trying his hardest not to outwardly sulk as he carefully descended the steps with one hand gripping the railing tightly, his knee sorely protesting the movement. "Try not to run me over when you reverse out of the garage at the speed of light, you dork."

“I'll see what I can do,” Calum said, flashing a teasing smile at the older man before he swung the garage door open with a metallic clang. “No promises though.” Michael turned away with a faint wry smile, heading carefully down the driveway through the thick mist as he breathed in the fresh smell of the pine trees.

He wasn’t exactly relishing the idea of going grocery shopping but at least the pair of them could probably listen to Green Day on the thirty minute drive there. They'd probably need to get petrol too and, as Michael thought about trundling around the supermarket with a list as he told Calum in no uncertain terms that they didn't _need_ eight packs of different-flavoured gummy snakes (and usually being persuaded to buy them anyway), Michael had to admit that the familiar task would at least help him to feel more settled. (That was the sort of thing both his mum and his counsellor had been saying anyway, and Michael was inclined to believe them.)

The road at the end of their driveway was deserted, the only sounds for miles around the gentle cooing of wood pigeons and the rustle of woodland animals in the undergrowth. Michael sighed softly and his breath ghosted in the air in front of him, hanging there like a little cloud of steam as he shivered at the frightening feeling of being watched.

His old life didn’t feel real out here. The narrow streets of north London with its twists and turns, its bus stops and nightclubs, its bars and restaurants… none of them felt real out here.

Michael felt a million miles removed from all of it.

He could hear Calum rootling around in the garage behind him; heard the distinctive sound of a cardboard box falling onto the ground and spilling its contents everywhere, shortly followed by soft swearing, and Michael rolled his eyes as he tapped his foot impatiently on the damp pavement.

Sourly, he figured that Calum had probably got distracted looking at old comics again and the red-haired man was so caught up in his one-hundred-per-cent-righteous-anger that he almost didn't notice that he was no longer alone until he looked up and saw the stranger standing motionless on the opposite side of the road.

Michael frowned at the strange man which seemed to be his automatic expression to anything that took him by surprise and, hurrying to school his expression into something that looked slightly more friendly, Michael gave the grim-faced stranger an awkward nod. The man must be one of the people who lived in the big house with the fairy lights at the end but, even as Michael processed this fact, he contradicted himself.

The stranger was little more than a _boy_ really, probably two or three years younger even than Michael was as he held a baseball loosely in his hand. He had soft honey-coloured curls and wide hazel eyes hidden behind glasses sitting crookedly on his tanned face. He was dressed in peeling trainers, loose blue jeans, and a red-checked flannel over a 1991 Metallica t-shirt that looked vintage.

Also, he seemed to be frozen.

The stranger had been staring at Michael steadily for almost thirty seconds now, and it had gone past the stage of unnerving and was well on the way to becoming ' _I'm a cannibal who wants to eat your internal organs_ ' instead. Michael smiled wanly at the stranger before silently cursing himself for doing that when he was nervous. Smiling was probably only going to _encourage_ his possibly-insane-new-neighbour to talk to him and Michael was kind of hoping that wouldn't happen.

“Morning,” he called out anyway, because he was awkward and stupid, and too polite for his own good. (Curse his mother for raising him to have manners! Curse her!) The silence was stretching between them again and Michael was getting vaguely antsy because apparently the man didn't need to blink and Michael had never exactly enjoyed prolonged periods of quiet which might have explained why he continued with: “My name’s Michael. I just moved in with my friends. Who are -”

He broke off when he heard the sudden intake of breath; wondered why he was giving this stranger his life story when the younger man was simply gazing at the older man with such terrifying _longing_.

Michael’s eyebrow rose as his fingers curled into fists and he couldn't help starting to wonder if maybe the stranger might not be a little unhinged. The twenty one year old wasn’t sure he was ready for this sort of conversation so early in the morning… except it didn’t really count as a conversation, did it? He was the only one bloody talking!

Michael could see the whites of the peculiar man’s eyes now as his tanned hands fell to hang limply by his sides and, even from the distance between them, Michael could tell that the stranger was trembling badly as he stared across at the older man in absolute shock.

“You mean… you can _see_ me?” the man blurted out in disbelief, his voice weak with fear and _wonder_ as his legs seemed to weaken beneath him.

Michael's heart gave a little lurch of fear in his chest but he raised his eyebrow anyway, aiming for disdain and probably just ending up with confusion instead.

“Uh... yes?” he said awkwardly, watching the strange man with wide green eyes. “You're standing right in front of me and we're having a vaguely disturbing conversation. I probably won't want to talk to any potential new neighbour ever again. You've scarred me for life.”

“Oh my god,” the man said but he was smiling faintly now, his hazel eyes sparkling with light. It took years from him - made him look like little more than a _child_ almost - and, as he glowed with what could only be described as relief, Michael realised that perhaps the stranger wasn’t so bad after all. “You said your name was Michael, right? Well, I'm Ashton! But you can call me Ash... or Irwin... or Ashy... or anything really; I don't mind. I don't mind at all!"

The younger man was babbling now, the excitement on his face so contagious as dimples sprang into his cheeks that Michael couldn't resist smiling back at him despite the confusion he could feel. The man - Ashton - had an infectious smile. Michael could feel it curving his own lips even as the younger man beamed back at him, his eyes gleaming with tears.

“I can't believe you can really _see_ me!” Ashton continued happily, covering his smile with his hands although Michael could tell it was still there by the crinkling of the younger man’s tear-wet hazel eyes. “I really can't believe -”

The garage door shut behind them with a resounding clang and Michael jumped badly, turning away from Ashton to glance back towards the house.

“Hey, Calum!” Michael called, waving his hand in the air vaguely to get the taller man's attention. “Put those comics away and come down here to meet -”

Something made Michael fall quiet; some instinct that sent his heart galloping with nervousness in his chest as the dark-haired man reversed the car carefully down the driveway. Calum opened the door and stepped out lightly onto the gravel, tilting his head to one side.

“What are you yelling about, Mikey?” he asked and the red-haired man shook his head wordlessly, staring at the empty space on the other side of the road where the younger man must have slipped away into the trees.

“Never mind,” Michael said softly. He limped back to the car slowly, his confusion beginning to eat away at him as the comfort his painkillers had initially provided finally began to fade. Calum manoeuvred the car carefully out onto the tarmac, chancing a worried glance at his best friend as he did so but Michael remained silently, still staring blankly out of the window as he tried to process what had happened.

Calum’s old car sped along beneath the towering pine trees with Green Day playing loudly to drown out the silence that had fallen but it didn't make Michael feel any less bewildered.

Despite how impossible it was to disappear that quickly, the outcome was indisputable.

Ashton was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I hope you liked it and I can't wait to hear what you think <3
> 
> I'm definitely looking forward to posting the next chapter... *evil smile*


	5. the noose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Something_ is about to go down...  
>  I'm sorry in advance.  
> (This chapter was so much fun to write but I'm not sure why. Probably because I'm evil.)

“How's the house, Mikey bear?” Karen Clifford asked kindly. “How are you finding it?”

Her voice sounded crackly over the phone line and Michael scowled at how typical that was; of course even the mobile signal was horrendous over here. The internet speed was nothing to smile about either and the twenty one year old felt a sinking feeling as he drummed his fingers agitatedly on the desktop. All he had to amuse him now were old novels and the Book of Shadows his mum had gifted him, the latter of which was, admittedly, incredibly interesting. (Michael almost wished it _wasn’t_ though because, the more time he spent pouring over the spells, the less he spent actually doing something useful like looking for a job.)

"It's not too bad here," he replied, a beat too late. Guilt rippled through him when he realised that it felt like he was lying to her but he fought against it. In the house’s defence, it wasn’t _all_ terrible. He’d spent most of Sunday improving his bedroom which had helped him feel a lot more comfortable there. He'd even dragged a space heater in from the garage while Luke and Calum were busy flirting in the kitchen - his leg was aching badly enough that he couldn't quite manage the stairs alone now - but he'd unpacked some more boxes too, uncovering more of his clothes and some spare blankets (and possibly all of his cuddly toys although this couldn't be proved of course). It had helped him feel more settled.

“Is the heating working? Are the stairs okay for you?” Karen asked anxiously. “You know I worry about you. Your father said –”

Michael zoned out. He might not want to force his mother to choose between them but that didn’t mean he had to listen to anecdotes about the man who had almost undoubtedly tried to kill him. Michael couldn't delude himself in the same way Karen could, mostly because it wasn’t only his life Daryl had ruined. Michael had never much cared about himself but the way Daryl had treated Michael's grandpa – his own _father_ – in his final years? That was something the red-haired man would never be able to forgive. Clearly, Michael had inherited his father's stubbornness.

“Mikey? You've gone quiet,” Karen said gently and Michael sighed, leaning back in his desk chair in a useless attempt to get comfortable. It spun him round slowly before he caught himself on the edge of the desk, stopping the chair's movement with a soft gasp. He could see out of his bedroom window from this angle and he shivered as he took in the view before him; the ramshackle fence several metres away and, behind it, forest stretching up towards the rocky slopes of the mountains. The pine trees grew right up to the fence, their spiky branches breaching the property as they littered the long, gently swaying grass with pine needles. The wooden panels right below Michael's window were broken and splintering where the large oak tree had forced its way through, and the old tree creaked as the wind picked up outside. The moon was full tonight and the window was peppered with raindrops that caught the silvery light, illuminated like so many shards of crystal.

Michael didn't know if the night looked beautiful or terrifying, and he found himself growing increasingly disturbed at the uneasy realisation that perhaps it could be both.

“Mikey?”

“Sorry, mum,” he said quickly, chagrined. “I just got distracted for a minute there. I was looking at the mountains. It's really beautiful tonight.”

“You'll have to send me a picture,” she said and Michael struggled to inject some cheer into his voice. He loved his mum more than anyone and he didn't want her to be sitting at home worrying about him.

“You'll have to come over and visit, show me how to do some spells,” Michael countered and he could almost hear her beaming over the phone. He relaxed a little but the small smile on his face faded at her next words.

“I’d love that, Mikey bear. I’m curious though – are there many other houses where you live?” she asked. “Many people up there? Families?” ' _People you could make friends with so that you're not so dependent on Calum and Luke._ ' The little voice in Michael’s head whispered that last bit and he shuddered as the truth of it sank into his skin. It made him feel small and lost, and the vulnerability only worsened when he thought of his mum’s question.

His memories of the previous morning rippled like water before his eyes as a knot of anxiety tightened in his chest. He'd met Ashton after all but... but the man had disappeared into the trees – almost like he'd never been there at all – and Michael wasn't certain he hadn't imagined it now. Honestly, the entire encounter hadn't made any sense, from the man's palpable shock right down to his stunned: ‘ _You can see me?_ ’ that had sent the red-haired man's blood running cold in his veins.

Dimly, Michael wondered if he was going crazy… or crazier, he supposed.

“There aren't many people around here,” he said at last, distinctly uncomfortable although he couldn't have explained _why_ he was suddenly so on edge. “We haven't met the neighbours properly yet.”

“Oh, well I'm sure you'll get to know them soon enough,” she said and Michael mumbled his assent, suppressing a yawn as a cloud passed over the moon outside, casting the hillside in shadow. Karen made a soft clucking sound and Michael thought he knew what was coming.

“So how have you been holding up?” she asked gently. “Are you still taking two of those painkillers every morning?” She sounded unhappy at the mention of the medication and Michael glanced towards the bottle grimly, deciding at the last second not to tell her that he was also taking them in the middle of the day and before bed too. She'd only worry.

“Sometimes I need them if I'm expected to get out of bed,” Michael muttered and he didn't mean to sound sullen but there wasn't much he could do about it when the bitterness was welling inside him like acid.

“Mikey, I hope you're not taking too many of them again. You _know_ the doctor said they could become addictive and –”

“Mum, I'm not five,” Michael said sharply. “I think I'm sensible enough to know not to take too many of them, don't you?” Karen made a small hurt sound but she didn't respond because they both knew Michael wasn't telling the truth. Something withered in the red-haired man’s chest and he sighed, dropping his head into his hand for a moment as he cradled the phone more loosely to his ear. "And besides," Michael continued, working hard to make his voice sound gentler. "I've got Luke and Calum to look after me too, yeah? So you don't have to worry."

“I suppose so," Karen said grudgingly but she sounded a little more relaxed now before her tone suddenly brightened. “Oh, Mikey, did I tell you what the cat did this morning? Teddy was so funny! He –”

Michael's eyes drifted towards the window once more and he reeled back in shock, his heart soaring into his throat, his stomach tying itself into painful knots. There, swaying gently from the branch of the oak tree growing outside Michael's window, was a noose.

“Oh _god_ ,” Michael choked out, his blood icy in his veins as he stared at the loop of rope in abject horror. It was securely tied, the rope fraying and old as it swayed in the breeze. Goosebumps crawled over Michael's skin and he shuddered violently, unable to put into words quite how horrified he felt at this discovery.

“Michael?” Karen sounded deeply concerned now and he would have cursed himself for worrying her again if he hadn't been desperately fighting to fight off a panic attack. “Mike, what's happened? Do you need me to hang up and call Calum or Luke? Are you hurting?”

“What?” Michael asked blankly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he couldn't focus on anything else. “I - No, mum, no... I... I'm fine.” He couldn't tear his gaze away from the rope, his stomach knotting sickeningly as the worst thing of all occurred to him: that hadn't been there this morning. Michael was _certain_ of that.

“I have to go now, mum,” Michael said softly and the silence over the phone was strained before Karen hesitantly broke it.

“Oh... of course, Mikey,” she said, her voice purposefully gentle although Michael thought he could detect unhappiness in it. “You take care of yourself, okay? I'll ring you in a few days. I love you.”

“Love you, mum,” Michael murmured, ending the call. He set his mobile down on the desk with trembling hands, still unable to look away from the sinister coil of rope. He just couldn't understand how it was _there_ , right outside his window for no discernible reason at all. Maybe one of the new neighbours was playing a horrible practical joke on the newcomers, Michael thought wildly, or _maybe_ –

His jaw set and he pushed himself up from the chair sharply. Pain rocketed down to his knee at the sudden movement and, swallowing a curse as fury at his own weakness welled inside him, Michael snatched his cane up from where it was resting against the wall. He tried to avoid using it if he could – it made him feel even more self-hatred than usual which was never exactly a good thing – but right now Michael was too upset to care.

He just couldn’t believe they would _do_ this to him. The three of them were supposed to be as good as **brothers** and… and here they were, treating him like this… like someone they could humiliate just for fun.

Michael limped out of his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him, so hard it was still rattling in the frame as he lurched forwards to burst into the living room.

Luke and Calum sprang apart in shock, staring up at Michael with guilt staining their flushed faces as they tried to pretend that they _hadn't_ just been kissing each other on the sofa. Calum's dark curls were in disarray and Luke's cheeks were scarlet, and Michael's sudden loneliness in that moment would have overwhelmed him if he hadn't felt like bursting into livid tears. “Shit,” Luke breathed which was the moment Michael realised how awful he must look right now, sweating and ashen with shock as tremors rocked through him. Only the cane and his tenuous grip on the doorframe were keeping him standing, and Michael half wanted to crumple down onto the floor, if only to distract himself from how terrible he felt right now.

“Which of you did it?!” he demanded, his voice several octaves too high. His green eyes were faintly wild because he was panicking and frightened and... and _screw_ this house honestly. Fucking _screw_ it. He _hated_ it. “Who tied the rope outside my window? Which of you thought that would be funny?!”

Calum scrambled to his feet instantly, darting over to where Michael was leaning heavily on his cane and thumbing the smaller man's tears away gently. Michael hadn't even realised they were _falling_ and he felt more vulnerable than ever now... completely out of control.

“Mikey, just slow down,” Calum said soothingly, helping Michael to sit down on the sofa between him and Luke although it made the red-haired man's back ache with a pain searing enough that it tore a ragged gasp from him. “What's happened? Why are you so upset?”

“I'm _not_ upset! I'm _angry_!” Michael argued but his voice came out broken with the sobs he was fighting against. “Who tied that rope to the branch outside my window?” he repeated tearfully. “Who thought it was funny to hang a fucking _noose_ on the tree?!”

Luke looked aghast but he pulled Michael into a tight hug, apparently uncaring that Michael was now sweaty and tearful, and not particularly in the mood to be cuddled. Both of them were staring at the older man in concern because it was no secret that Michael had been suicidal a few years before. They knew what their best friend had tried to do and it was because of this that they understood why he was so freaked out now. It must have been like having his very worst memories replayed right before his eyes… like a nightmare turned reality.

“I'll go check it out, Mikey,” Calum said softly but he looked frightened as he watched his best friend fall apart in front of him. Michael's eyelashes were spiky with tears when he looked up at the dark-haired man but something died in his chest when he saw his best friend's kiss-bruised lips.

Michael felt more alone than ever.

“Be careful, Cal,” Luke said softly. Michael let his forehead fall to rest on the blond man's broad shoulder and Luke rubbed his arm soothingly, trying to keep him calm. “If someone _did_ tie that up there for a joke then they might still be around here somewhere.”

Calum shivered at that but he set his jaw as he disappeared out into the hallway. The wind howled when Calum disappeared out into the night and Michael flinched when the door swung shut. Luke shushed him gently, his fingers carding lightly through the smaller man's dyed red hair as Michael struggled to regain control of his breathing.

“Mikey?” Luke's tone was one of forced calm but, even in his current state, Michael could hear the hurt in it. “You don't _really_ think Cal or I would do that to you, do you?” Luke sniffed beside him and Michael refused to let himself look up because, god, if he made Luke cry now then he might as well just move back home. He'd feel like the worst human _ever_.

“No,” Michael whispered after a moment of hesitation. “I'm just... scared.” He glanced sideways suddenly, unable to help himself, and took in how red Luke's cheeks still were; remembered how messy Calum's curls had been in the moments before he marched out of the door. Michael's expression became sullen. "Are you two together now then?" he asked bluntly and he hadn't intended to make his voice cold but Luke's arm slipped away from around his shoulders anyway, taking his comforting warmth with it.

“I don't know,” Luke said quietly but, as Michael drew breath to say something that would probably be unforgivable, the front door opened and closed, signalling Calum's return.

Abruptly, Michael's heart began to beat a mile a minute again as he remembered the noose swaying gently from the branch outside his window, the rope old and fraying as it brushed tenderly against the glass. Michael sank back into the sofa with a little whimper when Calum appeared in the doorway, obviously shivering as he held up the object of Michael's fears in front of him.

“It was just vines, Mikey,” Calum said as one of the wilted leaves he was holding fell down onto the floor. Michael closed his eyes tightly, hating the tears burning there. “Just ivy.”

Beside him, Luke bit his lip as he shot a wide-eyed glance at the red-haired man. Michael's cheeks were flaming and his fear was rapidly being replaced with humiliation as his shame seared him.

“Okay,” Michael said mechanically as he remembered Ashton disappearing into the trees; pictured the rope hanging there in the moonlight. “I'm sorry I made you check. I'm... I'm sorry.”

His earlier accusation lingered in the dusty air between them.

Luke swallowed audibly and Michael wondered what he’d been about to say.

“It's okay, Mikey,” Calum whispered, even though the older man _knew_ it wasn't. He was scared he was getting bad again but... god, he'd never been like _this_ before. He didn't know what was wrong with him.

“I'm gonna go to bed,” Michael said softly. Luke wordlessly helped him stand up and passed him the cane from where it had fallen on the floor. Michael couldn't look him in the eye when he muttered his thanks.

The living room remained deadly silent behind him as the older man left. He thought again of Calum and Luke lying tangled together on the sofa and, with a heavy heart, he limped into his bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him, leaning against it until the catch clicked.

Michael crossed the room as quickly as he was able, wrenching the curtains shut without looking up and throwing his cane carelessly onto the floor. His room was lit only by the lamp on his bedside table and the shadows crept up the walls like ink as he slumped down painfully onto his bed, staring up despairingly at the ceiling.

Michael's mobile was still lying on the desk where he'd left it after ending the phone call and there was some vicious satisfaction in him when he reached out blindly for the bottle of painkillers, emptying two into his palm. Michael swallowed them dry and settled back on the mattress with a pained groan, too tired and achy to even consider taking his clothes off first.

Outside his door, he heard Luke and Calum ascending the creaking stairs as they talked quietly together in low, worried voices. Michael closed his eyes and pulled the pillow tighter around his ears, not wanting to hear what they were inevitably saying about him. He wondered if they regretted asking him to move in with them now. He wondered if this had been a mistake.

The red numbers on his clock flicked closer to midnight and Michael closed his eyes against the tears boiling down his cheeks in the darkness as he pictured the noose illuminated sinisterly in the moonlight.

First he saw someone who wasn't there and now this had happened.

Michael was scared he was going insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Mikey...
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Please let me know what you thought <3


	6. the chest in the attic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I was literally just playing Sims 4 and trying to avoid my responsibilities but I'm back now!  
> Hope you like this one. I had to tweak it a little but I'm a bit happier with it now.  
> Enjoy <3

Luke had left a bucket in the middle of the bathroom floor.

Michael frowned at it as he cleaned his teeth, scowling vaguely at his reflection in the smeared mirror as he moved the toothbrush lazily around. It took a while but finally his curiosity got the better of him and, gripping the sink with one hand, he leant closer and peered down into the bucket, eyebrow rising in surprise when he saw almost an inch of water in there. He looked up and his frown deepened at the wet mark on the ceiling.

"Looks like we have a leak," Michael said to no one in particular. Neither Luke nor Calum were within hearing distance but he was almost glad of it. At least if they weren’t around, he didn’t have to watch the pair of them trying in vain to hide their feelings. That was somehow even more frustrating than when they’d been silently pining for each other before.

Michael forced his bitterness away with difficulty as he shuffled back to the sink to rinse his mouth out. He didn’t like thinking about his friends anymore. It just made him feel more alone than ever, stranded out here… loveless. He’d possibly never felt lonelier than he did right then, with his mouth tasting of mint and his red hair tumbling into his eyes.

Luke had been gone for well over two hours by now. He’d been almost painfully optimistic as he left the house that morning on his bike, apparently uncaring that the closest job he’d managed to secure was seven miles away. The closest place hiring was the Inn in Santon Bridge but he had refused to let it sway him, instead insisting that ‘everything happened for a reason’ as he set out on the forty-something minute bike ride that morning. Michael had watched him go from the living room window with a sceptical expression on his face. Calum had practically been waving a handkerchief from the driveway.

The dark-haired man was gone too, off to meet his new team leader at whatever Headquarters the rangers operating in the western side of the Lake District used as a base. Calum had been as excited as a child on Christmas day that morning, running around the house in his boxers with his shirt half-done up and a piece of toast wedged in his mouth as he searched frantically for his other shoe.

Michael had politely suggested that perhaps Calum get ready the night before next time. Calum had politely told Michael just how far he could stick his completely innocent suggestion.

A wry smile tugged at the red-haired man’s lips although a frown creased his brow as he looked up at the water-mark on the ceiling. He knew he should probably just call someone to come out and fix it but Michael had never been what you’d call _sensible_ and, with a half-hearted shrug, he figured he’d just have a look himself.

Dropping his toothbrush back into the mug on the shelf, Michael shuffled out onto the landing. He hadn't been in the attic himself yet but he'd seen Calum testing the ladder out the day before so Michael knew the basic mechanics of it; he needed to open the hatch, reach up, and pull the handle which would make the ladder descend. It was probably easier said than done but, for once in his life, Michael was _glad_ he had the cane. At least it would finally come in handy now.

He peered up at the hatch doubtfully, shaking away his unease with irritation when he realised he was stalling. ‘ _No time like the present,_ ’ the little voice whispered and Michael agreed with it, something that was beginning to happen increasingly often lately. It was starting to talk _sense_.

Reaching up towards the hatch was painful but Michael managed it, gritting his teeth against the dull pain as he used his cane to push the hatch open. It was unexpectedly simple to hook the end over the handle and tug it down, and Michael felt triumphant as the ladder descended surprisingly smoothly towards him. Unfortunately, his smugness faded when he began the difficult climb up the ladder. His knee protested the movement and his back promised him that he would regret this later but he managed to amuse himself by picturing how horrified his best friends would look if they could see him right now.

When Michael finally heaved himself up onto the dusty floor with immense difficulty, he simply lay there for a few minutes, his flushed cheek pressed to the cool wooden panels as he struggled to get his breath back. His back twinged when he pushed himself slowly into a standing position but Michael forced himself to straighten up, stretching his arms out and hearing the familiar cracks as his spine protested the movement.

“Now where's that leak?” Michael muttered to himself, emerald eyes drifting around the dark attic. He moved forward carefully, avoiding various sheet-covered boxes that seemed to have been up there for a long time if the spider webs were any indication. Calum would have hated it up there and Michael smirked at that; spiders were one of the only things he _wasn't_ scared of.

He found the source of the leak by accident in the end. His foot caught on one of the covered boxes and, in an attempt not to fall, he flung his arms out and his hand collided with the sloping roof overhead. His palm came away wet and, once he'd steadied himself with a wince, Michael stepped closer to investigate. He had to squint in the semi-darkness but he thought he could see where the problem had come from now: some of roof tiles were loose and the rainwater from outside had been running down the rafters to drip into a big puddle on the floor, directly above the bathroom downstairs.

They definitely needed to call someone out to fix that before it got any worse.

Michael worried his bottom lip between his teeth idly, glancing around to make sure there was nothing of any value in the attic that might get damaged by the water. His gaze settled on the covered boxes after a moment and he frowned, limping closer and ducking his head warily under one of the water-marked rafters before he reached the closest box. The sheet sent out a cloud of dust when Michael pulled it free and he coughed wheezily as he realised with slight surprise that it wasn’t a box at all; it was a wooden chest instead.

The red-haired man sank down onto the floor beside it with a pained groan, turning his face away into his shoulder in case there was more dust as he pushed the lid open. It swung back with a low creak and, as the hairs on the back of Michael’s neck rose, he was reminded again of those ridiculous so-bad-they’re-good B-rated horror films that Calum loved to make him watch so much.

It took Michael’s eyes a little while to adjust to the shadowy depths of the chest tucked away in the corner but he stayed crouched there in the dark, even despite the growing pain he could feel. He was starting to worry that his sciatica might flare up and leave him trapped up here but this was a mystery, and Michael wanted to get to the bottom of it.

He emptied the chest slowly, his curiosity burning dully as he lay the contents out on the floor beside him. There were a strange mixture of things in there and, as Michael sorted through them, he got the distinct impression that they belonged to a child or teenager; maybe someone who had lived in the house before them?

There were a pile of books on photography, a hockey stick, a bundle of crumpled old clothes, a pair of drumsticks, some once-colourful bandanas that had long since faded, a collection of records that Michael _really_ needed to sort through properly later, and a leather baseball glove with no ball.

There was another Polaroid too, faded and slightly crumpled but still clear. It had been taken of a family relaxing in a sunlit garden together - maybe even _their_ overgrown garden behind this very house. The parents looked happy, dimples creasing the mother’s cheeks as the father pressed a kiss to her flowing caramel-coloured hair. She was cradling a bright-eyed baby to her chest and Michael swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat as he saw the infant’s hand curling around the edge of the yellow blanket it was wrapped in.

A date had been scrawled across the bottom in faded blue ink and Michael held it closer, squinting to make out the numbers in the darkness. Most of them were illegible now but he could just about make out the year: 1975. That was almost two decades before he’d been born.

Michael felt a peculiar ache in his chest as he looked down at the mysterious possessions in front of him. Someone’s whole life was contained in this chest and he couldn’t put into words why it made him feel so shaken up. It wasn’t even that long ago; the family might well be living their lives happily somewhere else right now but, looking down at the picture cradled in his shaking hands, Michael had a horrible feeling that wasn’t the case at all.

He carefully stowed the possessions back in the chest but there was something that stopped him from putting the Polaroid back too. Michael tried to convince himself that it was because he was worried the rainwater might damage it – not that he could explain why it mattered to him so much – but he thought it might be more to do with the curiosity he could feel burning the anxiety away in his chest.

Michael tucked the Polaroid away into his pocket and covered the chest with the sheet exactly as he’d found it. It took him a little while to climb safely down the ladder and even longer to get the hatch shut with his cane and, by the time he finally made it downstairs, Michael was desperate for more painkillers because his sciatica was _killing_ him now.

There was a deep frown on the red-haired man’s face when he finally settled down at the dining room table with his laptop, waiting for the painkillers to take effect as he switched the computer on. He was going to search for a nearby job and, although the idea of it filled his stomach with butterflies, he hoped he’d be successful because going out to work would hit two birds with one stone - it would stop his friends and mum from worrying about him quite so much, and it would get him out of this horrible house so that he didn’t end up going completely insane in there. The rain was sliding down the glass of the windows outside in rivulets and, although he had stowed the Polaroid safely in his desk drawer, it remained very present in his thoughts.

Michael hadn’t solved any of the mysteries at _all_.

Now he was more confused than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you for reading this fic! I've had it in my head for a long time so it's nice to share it with you all now.  
> Can't wait to hear what you thought of this one!  
> I'm very curious as to what your theories will be as the story unfolds...
> 
> Ashton is back next time... but was he ever away?


	7. the word please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it took a while. I don't love this update but hopefully you all enjoy it!

Michael ended the call with a sour expression on his face.

He’d just been speaking to Joanne - the owner of the Barn Door Shop down in Wasdale Head - about the potential of any possible work that might be arising in the near future. He’d only been asking out of a sense of duty; he wanted to help his friends pay rent and hopefully stop them from worrying about him sitting alone here all day long. He hadn’t _really_ believed Joanne would say yes.

Then again, he also hadn’t factored in quite how desperate she’d be for a new employee after the old one had apparently left without notice.

A heavy sigh escaped Michael as he glared down at his dark phone screen. He wished he could feel more enthusiastic about the opportunity but it didn’t seem possible with the mood he was currently in. Michael couldn’t shake off his bad mood no matter _how_ hard he tried.

He wasn’t sure he liked having all this spare time to kill either, especially given the fact that he was in the house all alone. Luke had settled into his new job incredibly well and Calum was _ecstatic_. It felt almost as though Michael was just rattling around the house all by himself, forgotten.

His bad mood definitely wasn’t helped by the fact that his sciatica kept him essentially trapped at the dining room table too. He sat hunched painfully in the wooden chair as he messed around on his laptop, cringing when the wind howled outside and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

More than twice now, Michael had twisted around painfully as the unpleasant sensation of someone watching him sent his blood running cold. Once he thought he saw the flicker of a shadow just out of sight of the doorway but, when he finally limped over to investigate - cane held tightly in his hands like a weapon - there was nothing there.

He thought again of the hazel-eyed man out on the road and the frayed noose swaying gently from the tree branch, and his self-loathing doubled.

Michael _hated_ it here; hated everything about being trapped in the middle of nowhere with two best friends so focused on falling for each other that they couldn’t even see him crumbling apart right in front of them.

By noon, Michael had given up the pretence of even _pretending_ he was happy to sit in the house.

He knew Luke had left some food in the fridge for him but Michael didn’t feel like foraging for a snack now. His stomach was twisting with nervousness and he’d lost his appetite around the time the howling wind had started to sound like a wolf.

In fact, Michael had got himself so jumpy that his muscles were tense and the dull aching pain shooting down to his knee had only worsened. He felt stupid for getting so worked up and he buried his head in his hands for a moment, fighting not to remember the moonlight shining through the loop of rope or the horror unfurling inside him as his phone clattered onto the desk.

Feeling abruptly sick, Michael pushed his chair away from the table and rose on stiff legs. The house was silent without his friends and he knew they wouldn’t be back until later that evening so he didn’t see the point of sitting here any longer. It was only one o’clock now and Michael couldn’t sit stand this. He could feel the craving beginning to settle under his skin again, an itch that was impossible to scratch but oh-so-easy to soothe for a little while.

Abandoning his cane by the dining room table, Michael limped into his bedroom on the way towards the front door and grabbed the bottle of painkillers on his bedside table. The pain burning in his back and leg was slowly worsening, and Michael felt that same surge of vicious satisfaction as he swallowed two dry.

He didn’t care that taking a short walk might be enough to alleviate the pain. Michael had never been very patient and that made itself apparent now as he choked the tablets down. He would _always_ take an immediate quick fix over a slower long-term solution; it was one of his biggest failings and he knew that was why his mum grew so worried about him sometimes. Michael often acted without thinking of the consequences.

Shrugging those worries away for now, the red-haired man shouldered the front door open and limped out into the rain. It was just beginning to fall; more a light mist than a downpour. The air smelt fresh and clean, and the wooden banister felt slippery under his pale hand when Michael carefully descended the steps of the porch, his breath escaping him in a pained hiss.

Calum and Luke would probably have something to say about him doing this but, just as Michael’s anxiety began to flutter unpleasantly in his chest, his emerald green eyes settled on a painfully familiar figure standing on the other side of the road again.

Michael’s heart raced ridiculously in his chest at the sight of Ashton watching him, his expression critical as he stood in the same place as before. He was dressed in the same outfit but the red-checked flannel was done up this time, the baseball gripped tightly in his trembling hands as he shivered like he felt cold. His hazel eyes never wavered from where Michael’s bad leg was dragging painfully beneath him.

“You again,” the red-haired man said breathlessly and Ashton’s expression flickered with something that was almost relief when the older man’s heavy gaze locked on his face.

“Should you be outside?” the younger man asked dryly and Michael couldn’t stop the slight smile from breaking across his pale face as he shrugged, brushing Ashton’s worries away absently.

“I thought I was going crazy,” Michael said weakly. His eyes were locked on Ashton’s face as he drank everything in: the way his honey-coloured curls fell artfully across his forehead; the glimmer of his hazel eyes behind his crooked glasses; his heart-shaped lips and the tiny hint of a smirk curving the corner of his mouth.

“I thought I’d imagined you,” Michael confessed and the light in Ashton’s eyes went out.

“Maybe you did,” he said flatly.

Ashton stepped closer to the kerb, stumbling slightly as his scuffed trainers carried him into the dusty road. For just a moment, Michael remembered the large trucks travelling to and from the slate mine, and his pulse quickened with concern when Ashton seemed content to simply stand there. Michael took a faltering step backwards and the younger man’s eyes locked on the movement.

“Please,” Ashton spat out, his voice thick with something like desperation, his expression twisted as though begging pained him. “Please don’t leave.”

Michael watched him with wide green eyes, glancing anxiously up and down the deserted road as Ashton simply stood there in the middle. He seemed rooted to the spot almost and Michael worried for a moment that Luke or Calum might drive home earlier than expected, not watching where they were going properly in the mist of rain; worried that one of the monstrously huge trucks would come thundering past on their long trek across the country.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he heard the telltale rumble of one of the colossal vehicles approaching, the low roar of its engine growing steadily louder as it approached through the mist. Michael’s breath punched out of him like he’d been kicked in the stomach, his insides knotting together unpleasantly as he began to panic that he was about to see Ashton get smeared in the road.

“Get back on the pavement,” Michael said, and he tried to sound firm like Luke and Calum did but his voice sounded small and scared instead. The younger man simply planted his feet more carefully in the road, like he was balancing on the balls of his feet almost, and Michael realised with a thrill of horror that the younger man had no intention of moving. “C’mon, Ashton, _please_.”

The red-haired man glanced helplessly towards the house but he knew he wouldn’t reach it in time. The truck was roaring closer than ever now and Michael’s heart pounded painfully in his chest.

“I hate the word _please_ ,” Ashton muttered, his voice twisting around it like it was something unpleasant, but he didn’t step back. Michael’s sciatica was hurting worse than ever now and his bad leg felt wobbly under him but the red-haired man fought to ignore it, taking a staggering step into the road and gasping out a pained groan.

“Stop,” the younger man ordered and Michael froze in place as he took in the shocking _calm_ on Ashton’s tanned face with something like disbelief. “You don’t have to worry,” the younger man added and Michael’s green eyes widened at the strange, almost _empty_ determination colouring Ashton’s expression now. “I won’t get hurt.”

The truck had rounded the corner now and Michael’s heart was trying to beat right out of his ribcage as the mist of rain slowly began to soak him. His red hair was plastered to his forehead but Ashton seemed strangely untouched by it, like maybe he wasn’t even here anymore.

The driver was blasting his horn now, leaning on it as he stamped on his screeching brakes. Michael hesitated, staring at Ashton in complete panic as the younger man folded his arms calmly, apparently content to stand there and get flattened. The horn sounded again and it finally broke through the terrified daze Michael had fallen into. He stumbled clumsily backwards, staggering onto the rain-wet pavement as nausea rose inside him.

The younger man was still standing there. Motionless.

Michael flinched when the truck roared past them, its heavy tyres throwing up muddy rainwater and splattering Michael’s jumper. Ashton’s baseball rolled slowly through the mist towards him and Michael choked on a sob, completely overwhelmed. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut when the ball lightly hit the kerb, his pulse quickening in panic as he pictured what was surely a scene of absolute carnage except -

“You can open your eyes now, Michael.”

Ashton’s voice was light and amused, his curls tousled lightly in the breeze as the truck thundered out of sight. Michael’s breath tore out of him in a choked gasp, his relief so consuming that his knees gave out beneath him. He fell down heavily onto the damp pavement and buried his head in his hands, much to the apparent amusement of Ashton as he sat down beside him, swiping his baseball from the puddles.

“I hate you,” Michael said weakly, making Ashton’s smile grow wider. “How did you do that?!” Michael’s demand was faint at best, his voice slightly choked as he glared at Ashton accusingly through his shaking fingers. “How did you move out of the way in time?”

“Oh, that's easy. My lightning fast reflexes are almost as quick as my wit,” the younger man said instantly, smiling thinly at Michael as his hazel eyes flashed with some quickly-suppressed emotion behind the smeary lenses of his glasses. Michael’s lips twitched faintly despite himself and he rolled his eyes when Ashton rose fluidly to his feet.

“I was just messing around,” the younger man said suddenly and Michael gave him a long look, his heart just beginning to calm as he tried - and failed - to straighten his left leg without wincing.

“Did you hurt yourself worse when you fell down?” the younger man asked guiltily and Michael groaned at the bite of pain he could feel flaring up almost in response. His sciatic nerve was searing painfully now and he let out a shaky sigh, hanging his head for a moment as he swallowed down the defensive retort he’d been about to snap.

“Yeah,” the red-haired man said at last. “You scared me kind of a lot just then.”

“My bad,” Ashton said. He extended a hand to help the older man up and, after considering it for a moment, Michael reached out to lace their fingers together. The younger man’s eyes widened fractionally when Michael allowed himself to be pulled to his feet but Ashton was smiling softly all the same.

He gave Michael his hand back slowly and the red-haired man swallowed audibly when he felt his cheeks blushing a soft pink. His green-eyed gaze drifted towards where the truck had driven out of sight and he exhaled deeply, hoping his voice would be a little steadier now.

“Tell me, do you have a death wish, Ashton?” the red-haired man asked curiously.

The younger man rolled his eyes, flashing Michael a crooked grin.

“It has been said,” Ashton admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Please let me know what you thought <3


	8. the colour of gemstones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Rachel. She likes angst and she inspired some of this chapter, and she pretty much coached me through my writer’s block so I’d like to high five her for that. Love you to pieces, Rachel.  
> Also, hilarious fact but this was actually supposed to be a relatively happy chapter. I actually fucking suck, wow.  
> Not sure if it's possible but hopefully you enjoy this!

Michael’s spell jar wasn’t working.

He’d used black pepper, cloves, and basil for banishing negativity but it hadn't fixed anything (possibly because he didn't really want it to). Michael still didn’t want to be here, leaning heavily against the counter as he fiddled with the little glass jar in his pocket and glowered around at the Barn Door Shop. Joanne had told him his part-time job would be ringing up purchases and tidying the store, when in actual fact it was just an exercise in trying his hardest not to swear at the customers.

“Only ten minutes left of your shift, Mike,” Joanne said as she emerged from the back of the shop, cradling a pile of neatly-folded anoraks in her arms. “How did you find your first week here?”

“It was good,” Michael said after a slight hesitation, unsure if he was lying or not. He was tired and achy from standing up for so long but he supposed it _was_ nice to talk to people again… especially if those people weren’t Calum and Luke, so wrapped up in each other that it felt like they didn’t even notice Michael anymore.

He was being unfair probably but it didn’t change anything. The red-haired man still felt like his heart had been hollowed right out of his chest.

“Mike?” Joanne asked softly, drifting a little bit closer. “Are you okay, sweetheart? You look a little...” Her voice trailed away delicately and Michael grimaced at her, cheeks flaming as he picked awkwardly at the uniform shirt he’d been provided. It was a dull forest green that was rapidly becoming _blurry_ and Michael’s heart shuddered in his chest when he realised he was on the brink of tears.

“Oh, honey,” Joanne murmured, drawing him into a hug that Michael melted into without meaning to. He wasn’t usually a tactile person but moving up here had made him feel so pathetically lonely that it was all he could do not to sob into her shoulder as his shaking hands fisted in the back of her jumper.

“Sorry,” he gasped out, his cheeks stained with blood as he realised how ridiculous he was being. “Sorry, I’m just… I’m not good with change and things are really hard right now, and I miss my _mum_ and -”

“Mike, it’s okay,” Joanne said softly, shooting the empty shop a grateful look as she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, nudging him back so that she could see him properly. “You’re allowed to be homesick and you’re allowed to cry. Growing up and moving out doesn’t change that.” Michael’s eyelashes were spiky with tears but he managed a watery smile as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Thanks,” he muttered, voice breaking enough that he had to clear his throat before trying to speak again. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

“Not embarrassing,” she chided gently, giving him a warm smile when he rolled his eyes. “You just need something to cheer you up. You need to get out there, pet. Do something to make you smile.”

“I’m meant to be going out tonight,” the twenty one year old said hesitantly, brushing his hair back from his forehead with a chagrined expression. “Luke, my… my _friend_ , he… he works at the Santon Bridge Inn and apparently there’s this thing going on tonight.”

“Ah yes,” Joanne said with a smile. “The World’s Biggest Liar competition. It happens every November here and it’s something most of us try to go to. It’s a good time to get together… to catch up with people you haven’t seen in awhile.”

Michael’s thoughts drifted unconsciously to Ashton and he blushed a little as he stretched the hem of his polo shirt. He wondered if the curly-haired man would be there tonight and Michael didn’t know what it meant that he so badly hoped the younger man would be.

“Everything will be fine, pet,” Joanne said gently, apparently noticing the way his expression had brightened. Michael dried his tired eyes with his sleeve, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as Joanne sent him a knowing look, clearly able to see that he badly needed reassurance.

“I’ll see at work tomorrow, okay?” she said with just enough finality that she sounded like a school teacher. “Bright and early.”

“Be there or be square, right?” Michael asked jokingly. Joanne rolled her eyes at him.

“Better make sure you’re _a-round_ ,” she said with a wink. Michael laughed so hard he snorted.

“I like this job,” he decided as his green eyes twinkled in the dust motes illuminated in the watery sunlight. “Working here is going to be fun.”

Michael made the walk home in just under half an hour that day, barely limping which was a relief. The late afternoon was bright and crisp, and autumn had come quickly that year, unfurling through Deadman’s Rise with barely a rustle as the leaves turned the colour of gemstones.

Michael thought his spell jar might even be working by the time he finally made it back to the house because the negativity he’d been feeling all day long had almost gone now. He greeted Calum with a wave when he saw the younger man nursing a coffee on the decking outside, sat on the bench with a comic spread out in front of him. Luke appeared just as Michael approached and Calum’s attention was instantly ensnared as he rose to draw the taller man into a tight hug.

Luke’s blond hair was damp from the shower he had just taken and he was already changed out of his new work uniform, and into the outfit he would be wearing to the inn later. Calum’s palm was rubbing soothingly over Luke’s back and Michael felt a stabbing pain ripple down his leg as he watched the pair of them.

“Oh, hey, Mikey,” Calum said distractedly when the pair of them finally separated. “You gonna go and get ready now, yeah? We have to head out soon if we’re going to get there in time.”

Michael swallowed down the bitterness he could feel rising inside him as the spell jar weighed like lead in his pocket.

“Whatever,” Michael muttered, shouldering past them as he limped into the house. “I’ll try not to hold you up too much.”

The thirty minute drive to Santon Bridge Inn seemed to take a lifetime as the sun sank behind the mountains. Michael felt like he was drowning in the awkward silence, Luke looked lost at the uneasiness rolling off of the red-haired man in waves, and even Calum’s shoulders were tense with stress, his face set in an unhappy frown that the evening wasn’t going the way he’d planned.

“Mike?” Luke tried softly but the red-haired man simply squared his jaw, glaring stubbornly out of the window as Calum finally parked the car outside the inn. His dark curls had grown unruly where he’d been dragging his fingers through them in his stress and the atmosphere in the car had clearly affected him too.

“I need a cigarette before we go in,” Calum said abruptly which was enough to make his passengers stare at him in shock because the dark-haired man only smoked when he was very, _very_ stressed. Calum muttered something under his breath when he saw their faces, opening the car door and stomping out onto the gravel once he’d dragged the crumpled packet of cigarettes from the glove compartment. Luke watched Calum with poorly disguised concern and Michael made a scornful noise in his throat, almost _bristling_ with indignation as he folded his arms tightly across his chest.

“You’re not going to make sure your _boyfriend’s_ alright?” the older man asked coldly and Luke flinched when he heard the acid in Michael’s voice. He didn’t correct the red-haired man though - didn’t tell him that Calum wasn’t his boyfriend; that the pair of them weren’t _really_ serious; he just looked at Michael with this naked sort of panic in his eyes that made the older man feel like he was heading for a fall.

“Why didn’t you guys tell me you two were official?” Michael croaked, suddenly feeling _small_ as he hunched there on the backseat like an unwanted child. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“Well…” Luke bit his bottom lip awkwardly. “Mike, I’m not being horrible but you kind of haven’t had a good word to say about us recently... and we didn’t really want to shove ‘us’ in your face, you know what I mean? You seemed to be struggling enough as it was.”

Michael swallowed past the lump that had rapidly risen in his throat as Luke stared at him with worried blue eyes.

“Fuck you, Luke,” Michael choked out as his eyes boiled with tears. “Fuck. You.”

The blond man reached out a shaking hand towards him but Michael batted it away weakly as he half-fell from the car.

“Just… just leave me alone,” Michael gasped out when Luke stumbled desperately after him. The car park was beginning to fill up around them now and Michael’s head spun with how badly he was trying to hold in his tears. “Just get _away_ from me, Luke! I feel like I can’t breathe when you crowd me like this!”

Luke took a jerky step backwards like Michael had punched him in the stomach, his face growing red and blotchy like it only did when he was freaking out.

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered, his blue eyes more red now as he twisted his fingers tightly in his neat blond hair. “We should have told you. We should have... God, I’m so _sorry_ , Mikey.”

Michael’s guilt tore through him like wildfire but he beat it down like his father had always done him. He wished he hadn’t made Luke apologise because, really, this wasn’t even his _fault_. He was just the sort of person to say sorry for the sake of a quiet life and Michael wanted to feel terrible for it - for reducing Luke to the snivelling teary-eyed mess currently wringing his hands in front of him now - but he didn’t… not when this was exactly how Luke and Calum made him feel on a daily basis.

“Just forget it,” Michael muttered, wiping his eyes fiercely with his sleeve before his green eyes flickered over to the inn. “Cal’s waiting by the door now. Let’s just… let’s go inside.” He thought of Joanne’s words earlier that day and a fresh wave of tears threatened to boil up behind his eyes. “Let’s try to enjoy this evening.”

Luke stayed standing meekly behind him, his arms hanging limply by his sides like Michael had leeched all of his enthusiasm away.

“Mikey, how can I make this okay?” Luke whispered as a big tear rolled down his flushed cheek. Michael paused, his face downcast as he glared down at the dusty gravel beneath their feet.

“You can’t,” he said softly, swallowing past the tears clogging his throat. “Nothing about this is okay, Luke.”

The atmosphere inside Santon Bridge Inn couldn’t have been further from Michael’s mood as he slumped down at one of the sticky tables with a pint cradled between his shaking hands. Music was playing from a jukebox somewhere as the landlord waited for everyone to arrive and Michael’s expression was furtive as he reached into his pocket for the painkillers he’d stashed in there earlier. He chased them down with the alcohol and, by the time Calum and Luke finally reappeared with their own drinks, his poisonous mood had abated somewhat.

“I feel like I should say something to break this awkward tension but…” Michael watched the pair of them owlishly over the rim of his glass as he paused to take a sip. “I got nothing.”

The two younger men watched him wordlessly for a moment before Calum’s dark eyes crinkled with relief as he laughed weakly at his oldest friend.

“I’m just glad you’ve finally stopped glowering,” Calum teased as he reached out to punch Michael lightly on the shoulder. “You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep that up.”

“He already has wrinkles,” Luke said spitefully but his lips twitched a little all the same. Michael looked up at the blond man hopefully but something withered in his chest when he saw that Luke’s smile hadn’t touched his eyes. The blond man’s gaze remained cold and the look he shot Michael was searching, like he couldn’t quite understand why the older man had to be so _horrible_ sometimes. Michael gazed back at Luke with an unspoken apology in his eyes because, quite honestly, he didn’t understand it either.

He’d been nice once, hadn’t he? Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe that was why his father hated him so much. Michael wouldn’t have blamed him.

He must have been a terrible person to be around.

His increasingly grim thoughts were interrupted when the landlord stepped up to the makeshift stage and got everyone’s attention with the microphone he was holding in one meaty hand.

“Welcome, everybody, to this year’s World’s Biggest Liar competition!” the old man said enthusiastically, beaming beneath his bushy white beard as several of the patrons called back greetings to him. “We have a lot of people signed up to go tonight so, without further ado, let the competition begin!”

The evening passed in a blur after that, the pub filled with either uncomfortable silences when someone told a weak lie or uproarious laughter when one of the competitors told a wild tale that was _just_ realistic enough to be acceptable.

By the time Calum finally took his turn onstage, Luke had relaxed enough to give Michael wan smiles and the red-haired man’s painkillers had long since been pumping through his system, allowing him to relax back in the high-backed chair with a tired smile on his face.

Calum’s lie was one of the most elaborate yet as he gesticulated wildly, clutching his half-empty pint in one hand as he spun a tale about how the new house they’d just moved into was haunted. Calum talked about the ghosts of a family; of nightmares starting to come true and knives disappearing from the block in the kitchen which would reappear in shadowy places in the house. Calum spoke of the howling sounds in the night and the unsettling feeling of being watched everywhere he went but, when he mentioned a noose hanging from the tree outside, Michael had had enough. He pushed his chair back with a loud creak, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment because, even if no one else here knew what Calum had done, Michael and Luke did.

Calum was betraying his trust, spilling his most frightening secrets out for everyone else to hear… to pick apart and laugh over because this was only a competition after all. It was only a _joke_. It was only Michael’s terror he was picking at like a vulture over bones.

Luke followed Michael outside when the red-haired man stumbled for the doorway, his head reeling when the cold night air rushed to greet him. Luke’s hand settled on Michael’s shoulder and the red-haired man bit back a sob as he forced himself to calm down.

“I’m going to walk home,” Michael said through gritted teeth, raking a hand through his wild hair and swaying as the alcohol in his system made itself apparent. “I don’t want to listen to this anymore.”

“You can’t, Mike,” Luke blurted out, his eyes wide with worry but also _disapproval_ as he frowned back towards where Calum was still talking inside, much to the delight of the punters. “It’s too far for your sciatica and it’s _dark_ , and besides -”

“I can drive you home, Mike,” a familiar voice said from the darkness nearby. Luke jumped and Michael jerked round to see Joanne standing there, arm in arm with her husband who seemed a little worse for wear. “I’d have to drop you off by the Barn Door Shop but it’s not a long walk from there, is it?”

“That would be brilliant,” Michael said breathlessly, shooting a hopeful look towards Luke whose iron resolve seemed to be weakening by the second. “You don’t mind staying, do you, Lukey? Cal will need you to drive him home after the amount he’s drank.”

Michael felt a bit spiteful saying it but Luke’s shoulders slumped in defeat and Michael’s smugness died quickly when the blond man sloped back into the pub with nothing but a grunted goodbye. Michael could feel Joanne watching him worriedly but, before she had a chance to say anything, her husband suddenly muttered something about feeling sick and staggered off drunkenly towards the hedge growing around the car park.

“Delightful,” she said dryly and Michael shot her a crooked smile as he loped along behind her towards her car. His head felt worse than ever now - possibly due to the mixture of alcohol and painkillers he had ill-advisedly imbibed - but he relaxed a little when he slumped down into the backseat of the car and, when she dropped him off outside the Barn Door Shop after making him promise to take care of himself, Michael almost felt sober again.

The night sky was pitch dark above him, silent save for the strangled cry of a crow somewhere in the trees growing nearby. Wasdale Head was quiet this late, the windows dark with their curtains drawn as Michael limped down the cobbled street.

His shuffling footsteps sounded loud as he tried to retrace his steps from earlier that day but he was finding it increasingly difficult to remember where he was going. Everything looked so different at night-time. Michael couldn’t pinpoint his location by that one tree with the ruby-coloured leaves or the little cottage with its sunshine yellow door smiling out from beneath dappled leaves.

Michael’s head whipped about uselessly as he stumbled along but it was no good and, soon enough, he was hopelessly lost.

The clouds were drifting to cover the moon overhead now and the inky black shadows seemed to stretch like puddles across the ground that Michael kept threatening to trip over. He didn’t have a _clue_ how to get to Deadman’s Rise from here - unless he was already there? - and, as his heart started to pound unevenly in his chest, a cold hand closed around his wrist.

Michael ripped his arm free with what _might_ have passed as a wail but, before he could _really_ start panicking that he was going to get dragged away, never to be seen again, he came face to face with Ashton.

The younger man was watching him with poorly-disguised concern, his honey-coloured hair delightfully tousled as he scrutinised Michael worriedly.

“You’re drunk?” he asked softly. “Why are you all the way out here all alone if you’re drunk?”

“Thank god you’re here, Ash,” Michael mumbled mindlessly, ignoring the younger man’s question in the face of draping himself over him in a clumsy hug instead, a broad sunny smile stretching across his pale face when Ashton patted his back feebly. Michael was _possibly_ drunker than he had initially realised. “Man, am I glad to see you!”

“Likewise,” Ashton said but he was smiling wryly all the same. “Honestly, why are you out here though, Mikey? It’s not safe all by yourself. Do you know the way back?”

“Of course I do,” Michael said loftily, despite blushing a little at the way the younger man had shortened his name. “I’m just out for a night-time walk so, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to continue it in peace. Off you go. Disappear like you always do.”

Ashton’s eyes flashed with something Michael hadn’t seen before and the red-haired man processed it slowly, his movements sluggish as he followed at a trot when the younger man abruptly strode off in the opposite direction.

“I think you’re lying,” Ashton said, rolling his eyes at Michael as he shook his head fondly. “You have the look of a man who has stormed off and managed to get himself lost in the process. Bet you’re too proud to call one of your friends to help you, right?”

“Right,” Michael muttered, cheeks flushing. “No way you could have just guessed that though. Are you, like, psychic or something?”

Ashton gave him that look again - the one that told him he was deliberately missing something that was right in front of him - before his face softened as he drew Michael to a stop.

“This is the way we need to go,” he said softly. “But you look tired and also like your leg is hurting you.” The moment he said it, Michael became aware of the ache in his knee and his face crumpled a little. Ashton made a soft clucking sound as he stepped closer. “Just rest it for a second and then we’ll carry on, yeah? I’ll help you get home. Why don’t you tell me about your evening first though? I’d like to hear what you’ve been doing.”

His tone was nothing short of wistful which was possibly the only reason Michael recounted the events he had just experienced. Ashton’s expression became melancholy when he heard about the World’s Biggest Liar competition but a startled choking sound escaped him when Michael bitterly recounted what Calum’s lie had been about.

“- and then he started talking about knives and the noose I saw, and I just… I couldn’t stay there. I _couldn’t_. Not when he was telling everyone things like that. He should’ve known how that would make me feel… and I get why Luke didn’t say anything because his family make him feel shitty for who he is and he just wants Calum to love him but… but doesn’t he love me too? Don’t they _care_? The noose was… it was a secret,” Michael mumbled, his words starting to grow jumbled as the alcohol slurred his words. “Cal should never have said.”

Ashton was watching Michael with an unreadable expression on his tanned face now, his beautiful eyes damp with tears as he let his palm settle hesitantly on the older man’s arm.

“Oh, Mikey,” he breathed softly. “Of course you see those too. Of _course_ you do.”

A lump rose in Michael’s throat at the pain on Ashton’s face but he was too drunk to process it anymore. His head was spinning and even standing up felt like too much effort now, and he had no idea how to get back to the house at all because, knowing him, he’d probably been going in completely the wrong direction.

“I’ll help you get home, Mike,” Ashton said softly, seemingly able to read the older man’s mind as he reached out hesitantly for Michael’s hand. The road Ashton was leading them down was dark and empty, and Michael shivered violently as he saw the inky shadows stretching out towards him like clawed hands.

“Do you trust me?” Ashton asked and Michael looked up at him helplessly, taking in the younger man’s empty hazel eyes and the worry prematurely lining his tanned face.

Something calmed in the older man’s chest as he entwined their fingers together carefully.

“Yes,” Michael whispered and he tightened his grip as he followed Ashton into the darkness. “I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading (and also for putting up with my terrible upload schedule)!  
> Please let me know what you thought <3


	9. the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm sorry for the delay. I'm not enormously happy with this chapter but hopefully you'll enjoy it.  
> I think this needed to happen!

Luke was crying.

Michael heard it as soon as he turned his music off and tossed his headphones aside. He could hear the blond man’s soft sobs as he choked out barely-legible words into his phone and Michael’s heart broke in his chest as he pushed himself painfully into a sitting position. The raindrops were sliding gently down the window and Michael’s hand was shaking when it came to rest gently on the wood of his door.

He knew who Luke was talking to on the other side.

He didn’t need to hear the venom that would no doubt be being spat over the line to know that it was Luke’s family trying to tear his self-confidence to pieces. They did this sometimes, clearly whenever they thought enough time might have passed that perhaps their son was _finally_ happy; they called him and took it in turns to rip him apart.

Michael hated the Hemmings even more than he did his own father.

When he opened his bedroom door with trembling hands, Luke stiffened, his back to Michael as he leant over the narrow table they kept their door keys on. His shoulders were tight with stress and _shaking_ with sobs, and Michael limped over to take the blond man’s hand gently.

“You don’t deserve this, Lukey,” Michael breathed, tightening his grip on the younger man’s hand when another sob tore its way violently out of him. Michael had barely talked to Luke since that night at the pub, too embarrassed that the blond man had had to reveal his relationship in such an uncomfortable way… too ashamed that he’d brought Luke to tears himself when that was exactly what he hated so much about the blond man’s homophobic family.

“ _Luke_ ,” Michael said imploringly when another terrible sob escaped him. Luke looked like he was going to fall but the phone was still clasped so tightly against his ear that it was all Michael could do to gently pry the younger man’s fingers away. Luke let the phone fall limply and Michael brought it to his ear, barely focusing on the crackly voice because he was more focused on pulling the blond man into a one-armed hug in an effort to stop his crying.

“Stop,” Michael said when he caught the tail-end of an insult vicious enough that it sent the hairs on the back of his neck rising. No wonder Luke had been such a wreck when he’d finally ran away from home to sleep on his best friends’ sofas. No wonder it had taken Michael and Calum six months to make Luke feel like he was even worthy of their loving attention.

“Excuse me?!” a vaguely familiar voice snapped and it took Michael a moment to realise it was Jack, Luke’s older brother. “Who the fuck is this?” Michael almost _heard_ the unpleasant smile slowly spreading across Jack’s face. “Wait. Is this _Clifford_?”

Michael bristled at the unpleasant laugh that greeted him and Luke whimpered beside him, burying his face in the red-haired man’s shoulder and fisting the back of his hoodie in one shaking fist.

“God, Clifford, it’s really you, isn’t it? You need to mind your own business. Give the phone back to Luke and piss off. _Now_.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Jack,” Michael said heavily and he was about to hang up when he heard Luke’s brother spit: “You should have killed yourself when you had the chance.”

Michael closed his eyes for a moment, forcing down how badly he wanted to tell Jack to take a leaf out of his book because the red-haired man refused to sink that low.

“Don’t call this number again,” Michael said instead. “Ever.”

He stabbed the ‘end call’ button with his thumb and took a deep, calming breath. Luke was shaking when Michael folded him up into a tight hug and the kiss he pressed to the blond man’s forehead only seemed to make him cry harder.

“I love you, Lukey,” Michael whispered. “I’m sorry. I love you.” Luke’s usually-pale face was blotchy with how upset he had become and the red-haired man was starting to panic himself now, hating that he couldn’t take the pain from Luke’s tear-filled eyes. “Let me get Calum for you, Lukey,” Michael whispered, already hating himself for the fact that he couldn’t help his youngest best friend alone. “Let me find him.”

Luke crumpled down onto the bottom step when Michael drew back, burying his head in his hands and tangling his fingers through his messy blond hair. The kitchen door was shut at the end of the dark hallway but Michael could see a thin strip of gold beneath it and he headed towards it, his face setting into a grim expression as he pushed the door open with a creak.

Calum was sitting at the table with the radio playing crackly rock music as he leant back in his chair. There was a mostly-full bottle of beer set beside some paperwork he seemed to be filling out for work but what was more a call for concern were the bruise-like circles smeared under the dark-haired man’s eyes and the stale smell of cigarettes lingering on the clothes he’d been wearing the day before.

Clearly, Calum wasn’t having the best time right now and Michael wanted to feel a vicious surge of satisfaction for that but hating Calum didn’t come easily to him. It didn’t matter that Michael had been doing his best to avoid him since the night of the competition; that Michael had preferred to lock himself away in his room with Karen’s Book Of Shadows and his dog-eared novels instead of actually _discussing_ all of the ways he felt Calum had broken his trust.

“Mike?” The dark-haired man set his pen down and pushed the form he’d been working on aside with something like disgust. “You haven’t actively sought me out in almost a week now.”

Michael pressed his lips together hard to keep from telling the younger man exactly what he thought of that statement. Calum looked so world-weary as he looked up at the red-haired man and Michael swallowed down the guilt he could feel welling inside him.

Calum seemed to be having a horrible time of it lately, probably made worse in no small part by Michael spitting at him to fuck off whenever Calum accidentally crossed paths with him. That was why the red-haired man caught himself from cursing again now. He didn’t want to tear Calum down the way Jack did Luke.

Michael wasn’t like that… was he?

“No,” the red-haired man blurted out loud and Calum gave him a curious look, taking a sip of his beer although he didn’t seem to be in the mood for it.

“Are you ready to forgive me now?” the dark-haired man asked and his tone was bland. “It was just a joke.” His chocolate brown eyes drifted unwillingly back to his paperwork and Michael gritted his teeth, spreading his palms on the desk so that the paper was blocked from the younger man’s view.

“What the fuck, Michael?” Calum asked, glaring petulantly, but Michael had never been less affected by it.

“Quit it, Calum,” Michael snapped and there must have been something serious in his eyes because Calum fell silent instantly. “No, I haven’t come here to assuage your guilt. This is actually a little bit more important than that.” There was concern growing in the dark-haired man’s face now and Michael was glad of it.

“What I came to tell you was that your fucking _boyfriend_ \- and thanks for telling me, by the way - is sobbing his heart out in the hallway.” Michael’s knee was twinging with pain but he gritted his teeth against it, battling on regardless. “Maybe take him out tonight and actually treat him _well_ unlike his shitty family, and don’t come back home until you’re ready to think about someone other than yourself for once, okay?”

“Mike, that’s out of line!” Calum argued but his dark eyes had become slightly panicked and Michael knew he was afraid of the things Luke might have heard from his relatives.

“It’s not out of line,” Michael said. “It’s really, really not… but I’m too tired to fight with you. I don’t care anymore. Just… just fucking help Luke, okay? I can’t do it. He needs you.”

Calum rose on weak legs, his mouth falling open for a moment although no sound came out. Abruptly, he turned away and left the room as the shadows enfolded him. Michael could hear him softly murmuring to Luke, along with a muffled sob and the zip of a coat, and then the front door opening and shutting.

Michael let out a shaky sigh in the sudden silence, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he tried to breathe through the stress headache that was beginning to develop behind his eyes. He hated confrontation so much; hated the tightness in his chest and the way the anxiety made his hands shake.

“Mike?” a soft voice asked and Michael swore his heart stopped in his chest for a moment. He spun round to find Calum lingering in the doorway, his eyelashes spiky with tears as he fiddled with the hem of the coat he’d just pulled on over his clothes. He was biting his bottom lip so hard Michael was scared he’d draw blood, fidgeting and sad as he glanced up at the older man. He looked so shockingly _small_ for a moment that it reminded Michael of the day they’d met and a lump rose in his throat that he almost couldn’t swallow past.

“I thought you’d gone,” he said when he could breathe again. Calum just shook his head sadly, one hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Just told Luke I’d take him out for a drink at the Inn down in Wasdale Head. You probably heard him getting in the car,” the dark-haired man said but the fight seemed to have left him and he looked hopeless without it. “I just realised… you’re right. _I’m_ the one who’s been out of line. I shouldn’t take out my bad mood on you. That’s not right.”

“Is… is something wrong?” Michael breathed, momentarily forgetting about Luke probably crying in the car right now in the face of Calum’s pain lurking just below the surface. “Something I don’t know about?”

Calum smiled but it didn’t touch his eyes.

“Do you remember how much I loved learning about the Lake District at school?” he asked and the randomness of the topic took Michael so by surprise that all he could do was silently nod. “I always wanted to become a ranger. I wanted to work in this _beautiful_ place but…” For just a moment, Calum’s calm expression flickered and Michael saw the shocking agony hidden underneath.

“What is it?” the red-haired man asked and Calum smiled despite the tears welling in his eyes.

“Mikey, I fucking _hate_ it,” he said softly, his voice thick with the sob he didn’t want to release. “It’s not what I expected at all. I’ve never hated anything _more_.”

Calum faltered for a moment, one arm coming to wrap around himself as he glanced guiltily towards where Luke was waiting for him outside. Michael had half-reached to give the younger man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze but his hand fell to hang limply by his side instead.

It didn’t feel right anymore, just like it didn’t feel right to help Calum find the positives in this situation, at least not tonight. Michael didn’t feel comfortable being around the dark-haired man anymore. He knew Calum was sorry - genuinely believed the younger man meant it - but he also knew that Calum would do exactly the same thing again if he thought it would help him achieve his ends.

It wasn’t cruelty for the sake of being cruel. Calum was just selfish; he always had been, no matter how kind he tried to be. It probably came from the way he’d been raised, constantly babied and given everything he wanted.

God, Calum had used Michael’s terror for his own gain and, thinking about that, the red-haired man abruptly found it difficult to even look his oldest best friend in the face.

“Come on,” Michael muttered, gesturing for Calum to head outside and following at a slow limp. “Luke’s waiting for you. Just… just go, Cal.”

“No,” the dark-haired man argued weakly. “Not yet. Not until you forgive me.”

“Don’t do this,” Michael pleaded and he was so _tired_ now. So fucking tired of all of this.

“But I need to,” Calum said sadly and the apology was shining in his eyes, mingling with the tears there. “I really _am_ sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things just to win the competition and… and I shouldn’t have kept my relationship a secret and put Luke in the awkward position of having to tell you alone, just because _I_ didn’t think you could handle it…” Calum’s bottom lip wobbled at the pain on Michael’s face and his voice dropped to a murmur. “But… most of all… Shit, most of all, Mikey, I should be treating you like my best friend… because that’s what you _are_ … if you’ll have me back at least. My best friend.”

The rain was starting to come down in sheets, the sky threatening a storm overhead, and Michael felt his resolve weaken a little.

“Get in the car, Cal,” he sighed but his eyes were softer now. “The rain’s soaking you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please let me know what you thought <3
> 
> Ashton next time (if I can manage to follow my plan for once... because believe it or not, this chapter wasn't supposed to exist...)


	10. the northern lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay. My writer's block has been terrible and I've been losing interest in 5sos (so they better hurry up with that damn album) but I really did mean it when I said I wanted to finish this story.  
> It won't let go of me just yet.

Michael didn’t mind the house so much nowadays.

He didn’t mind the wind howling through the forest edging their driveway anymore because the breeze carried the fresh scent of pine with it. The mountains looked pretty at dusk too - painted pink in the reddish light of the setting sun - and, if Michael was _really_ desperate to feel positive about the damp place they’d ended up living in, at least the seemingly endless rain meant that they never had to wash their car by hand.

Admittedly, he still didn’t like how cold and wet it was - hated the steepness of the stairs that aggravated his sciatica and the broken-down fence creaking eerily outside his window - but he quite liked the rest of their new home.

His friends didn’t seem to share his grudging fondness though; Luke was constantly complaining about the terrible water pressure in the shower and Calum was still annoyed about the leak in the bathroom ceiling upstairs.

Michael was almost glad of the dark-haired man’s discomfort, largely because he hadn’t yet forgiven Calum for the way he’d treated him. Sure, the apology had _helped_ but… it just didn’t feel that easy anymore. Ever since the phone call, Luke had been incredibly clingy to Calum and Michael felt more alone than ever.

Maybe that was where his fondness for the house had come from… because if he didn’t feel welcome in the house, there was nothing keeping him here. Not Calum and Luke, so wrapped up in each other that they barely noticed him anymore. Not his job at the Barn Door Shop and Joanne’s pity.

Nothing… except perhaps Ashton.

Not wanting to think too much about that though, Michael forced his attention back to the house. He’d decided that it had _character_ , even if the peculiar sensation of not being alone in an empty room _did_ unnerve him sometimes, and nothing else strange had happened like that night with the vines hanging like a noose outside his window. The house almost felt safer when he wasn’t looking for reasons to hate it.

It was a good thing Michael didn’t mind staying in the house alone too because he was spending a lot more time by himself these days.

Perhaps worryingly, Michael was starting to enjoy the solitude in a way he never had done before. He was sure his therapist would have had something to say about him isolating himself from the rest of the world like this - his mother _definitely_ would have - but the red-haired man couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore. Staying home alone made it easier to take his painkillers in privacy and he didn’t even have to get dressed if he didn’t want to.

However, in a strange turn of events, Michael was actually wearing clothes today. He’d taken his morning coffee and his laptop outside onto the porch with only minor struggling, and he was settled unusually comfortably on the bench now, his mug sitting on the table in front of him as his cane rested against the wall nearby. A light mist was still curling lazily around the tree trunks, and for once the air was fresh and crisp as the darkening clouds hinted at the chance of rain.

Gazing around at the damp green world that had somehow become his home, Michael knew nothing had changed. There was no _reason_ for his heart to feel lighter in his chest at the prospect of being essentially trapped here in the middle of nowhere -

And then Ashton appeared at the foot of the driveway with his ever-present baseball in his hand and Michael realised that maybe things _were_ different after all.

“Hey, Ashton,” the red-haired man called, his pale face lighting up as he raised his hand in greeting and almost knocked his coffee over in the process. His cheeks heated with embarrassment at his utter lack of cool and Ashton smiled wryly as he drifted closer, tossing the ball up into the air and catching it as he meandered through the mist, shooting the old house a joyless look.

“That was smooth. I don’t think laptops are designed to withstand being soaked with coffee,” Ashton pointed out as he reached the bottom of the steps. The wooden planks looked slippery with last night’s rain and Ashton hesitated for a moment before he stepped up them lightly, mirroring Michael’s weak grin when he realised that the red-haired man blushing.

“You weren’t supposed to notice that,” Michael said after a long moment, shooting his coffee a chagrined look. His back was beginning to ache dully and his knee was throbbing but there were dimples creasing Ashton’s soft cheeks now, and the baseball flying from one hand to the other was mesmerising. “I was trying to come off as suave.”

“Well, the cane probably adds to that,” Ashton said fairly, shooting Michael a crooked smile as he stowed the baseball neatly in his shirt pocket. “I’m sure you look very refined.”

“I look _elegant_ ,” Michael corrected, obviously lying as he mirrored the younger man’s smile. “Like Lucius Malfoy with _his_ cane.”

Ashton - who had been in the process of clambering up to sit on the banister - paused for a moment and shot Michael a blank look before winding his arm securely around one of the wooden supports, anchoring himself in place.

“Lucius _who_?” he asked and Michael clutched his chest, pretending to reel back in shock. A light smile touched Ashton’s lips despite his apparent uncertainty.

“Your knowledge of pop culture and shitty movie references is severely lacking,” Michael declared, forcing a sneer although he mainly just wanted to smile at Ashton until his cheeks hurt. “We definitely need to fix that. Are you _seriously_ telling me you’ve never heard of Harry Potter?”

Ashton shrugged, looking a little embarrassed but mostly just confused, and Michael tore his gaze away with difficulty when he felt the smile softening on his face. He scowled down into his drink instead as, briefly, he remembered the first time Ashton had dropped by to visit him while the red-haired man sat outside with his laptop. It had been a week or two ago now and, since then, their morning chats had become almost routine.

It made dragging himself out of bed easier anyway.

Waiting for his painkillers to kick in wasn’t so agonising when he knew he’d be seeing the younger man soon and butterflies began to flutter in his stomach when he sat down alone to eat breakfast in the silent house. His favourite part of the morning before he went to work was when he headed out onto the porch with his laptop to drink his coffee in the fresh air and found Ashton waiting for him though (and if that sent his heart racing too fast in his chest, no one else had to know).

“Can I get you a drink or something?” Michael asked suddenly as he remembered his manners, squirming on the bench a little when Ashton’s solemn hazel eyes settled on his face. He didn’t think Ashton would take him up on the offer but it still felt polite to ask; after all, Karen really _had_ raised him to be polite. The younger man watched Michael carefully for a long moment, taking in his cane and the way his pale fingers curled hesitantly around the china handle, and Ashton smiled faintly as he shook his head.

“No, thank you,” the younger man said politely. “I’m not very thirsty. Plus, your mugs are more likely to survive if I stay away from them.” Michael had to smile at that, aware that Ashton was obviously still embarrassed about the first time he’d come to visit the older man while he was working.

Michael had made Ashton a cup of coffee but the drink had seemed to slip right through the younger man’s fingers when he reached for it instinctively, spilling the hot liquid all over the floor as the mug smashed on the porch. Ashton had flinched away in shock, apparently completely mortified; Michael had just felt bad for not making sure the younger man had a proper grip on the mug.

Michael had made Ashton another drink the next time he’d come to visit but, despite looking touched, the younger man hadn’t drank it so Michael had decided not to bother without asking again, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.

Maybe Ashton didn’t like drinking or eating in front of people. Maybe he’d just been too polite to refuse.

The younger man looked a little uneasy now - still obviously embarrassed - and Michael hurried to distract him. He wasn’t sure why it mattered to him so much that the younger man felt comfortable with him but there was something vulnerable in Ashton’s eyes that made Michael’s heart beat just a little too fast in his chest.

“We just got _so_ waylaid,” Michael announced, a faint smile touching his lips as he clearly tried to cheer the younger man up. “The topic of discussion was that I, Michael Gordon Clifford, am suave.”

Ashton’s eyebrows took a jaunt up to his hairline but he looked grateful all the same and Michael tried not to stare when the younger man carded his fingers through his soft hair, letting the honey-coloured curls tumble back across his forehead with a casual sort of grace.

“You’re not suave. You don’t take any notice of where you put your coffee,” Ashton pointed out as he leant his cheek against the cool wood, exhaling heavily. “It’s hard to look charming when you’ve just poured boiling liquid all over yourself.” Ashton’s smile became faintly apologetic. “That just makes you look clumsy probably. Not a particularly desired trait.”

Michael snorted, finding the jibe more amusing than he maybe would have done if Luke or Calum had said it. Then again, everything they did at the moment seemed to be getting his back up so maybe Michael was just biased. He knew he was being unfair probably but it was difficult to be mature when he remembered the way they’d been kissing on the sofa a few weeks previously… when he realised they’d never trusted him with the truth even once.

“You look sad,” Ashton said suddenly, his eyebrows pulling together in a worried frown. “Do you want to talk about it?” His words were soft and they took Michael by surprise as the older man looked up jerkily, biting his bottom lip hard when the movement made his back flare with pain. The weak smile he forced on his face didn’t touch his eyes.

“I’m not really,” Michael lied but his teeth worrying uncertainly at his bottom lip contradicted him. “I was just thinking about my friends,” he said after a long moment, jerking his thumb towards the empty house as though Luke and Calum were still hiding inside somewhere. When Ashton seemed content to simply watch Michael curiously, the red-haired man felt a little tension leak out of his shoulders. “I walked in on them kissing a few weeks ago.” He didn’t elaborate but the betrayal he felt saturated his words and something withered in his chest that might have been shame.

Ashton’s hazel eyes widened in surprise and his little intake of breath was just quiet enough that Michael thought he might have imagined it.

“They’re… queer?” Ashton asked blankly, a look of utter confusion on his face. “Whenever I imagined them, I always thought of them as straight.” The younger man instantly seemed to regret those words and, although Michael gave him a funny look, he decided it wasn’t really worth pursuing now. In a quiet place like this, any change at all must have been interesting so he figured it made sense that Ashton had given them so much consideration. Maybe he just had an overactive imagination.

“Well, Luke is gay; Calum is bisexual.” Michael shrugged like it didn’t matter and Ashton watched him carefully, hazel eyes narrowing as he slipped down off the banister so that he could lean on the edge of the table instead, a serious expression on his tanned face.

“What about you?” he asked eventually and Michael took a long time to drag his gaze up, the shame and confusion he was battling evident in his eyes as his palms fell flat on the tabletop.

“I don’t know,” Michael said honestly, a humourless smile twisting his cherry-red lips as the pain in his leg seared through the nerves. “And I don’t really care either. I can’t even walk properly without swearing and being in pain… I’m not exactly beating devoted people away with a stick, Ash.” Michael snorted suddenly, his smile fading. “Huh. A _stick_. Guess I should’ve said ‘cane’ instead.”

Ashton’s face fell as he looked at Michael carefully, taking in the older man’s emerald green eyes and the way his crimson hair fell messily across his pale forehead. The younger man moved slowly around the table, sinking down fluidly onto the bench and twisting so that he was facing the older man.

“Do you really think that?” Ashton asked softly, his hazel eyes so sad that Michael couldn’t let himself look at him anymore. “Do you really think no one’s ever going to love you, Mike?”

“I didn’t say that,” Michael muttered but his cheeks were heating and he looked off towards the forest, biting the inside of his cheek as his expression twisted with something like pain. When Ashton’s palm settled hesitantly on his wrist, both of them let out little gasps of surprise.

“No… but you were thinking it though,” the younger man said softly, his voice slightly breathless as he gazed down at where his hand was resting gently on the older man’s arm. “And you couldn’t be more wrong, Mikey, honestly.” Ashton’s voice was earnest although his cheeks heated a little. “If some people let you hurting make them not want to be with you then… then they’re the wrong person!” Ashton looked momentarily embarrassed at his outburst but there was still something soft in his hazel eyes. “I think you’re _great_ ,” he said softly.

“You don’t even know me,” Michael said, his voice heavy as he tried to ignore how warm the younger man’s words had made him feel. “Not _really_ anyway.”

“We’re getting there though,” Ashton teased, bumping Michael lightly in the ribs with his elbow and looking jubilant when the older man let out an exasperated laugh, nudging him back. “We have jokes and things.”

“And _things_?” Michael asked doubtfully, smirking a little now despite himself as he settled more comfortably in the chair. His back wasn’t aching so much now and Ashton seemed happier today; more talkative. “If you say so, Ash.”

“I do,” Ashton said proudly. “The other day you - Hold up, do you _seriously_ drink your coffee through a straw, Michael?” The younger man’s eyes were glittering with mirth now and Michael adopted a purposefully innocent expression as he ducked his head to take another sip of his drink. It was hard to pretend that Ashton’s disbelieving laughter _hadn’t_ made something raw soften in his chest but Michael was trying valiantly all the same.

“Sometimes when I can be bothered to _find_ a straw,” Michael replied after a long moment, still grinning weakly although he sobered a little as he spoke again. “My grandpa used to insist that it was the best idea ever. He had these dentures when he got old and he told me his dentist said it was better to drink everything through a straw because, that way, they were less likely to get stained. He wanted to save money I guess… and I do it now because… it reminds me of him I suppose.” Michael shrugged and Ashton considered this, taking in the slight tightening of Michael’s expression and presumably correctly guessing that the older man’s grandpa was no longer around.

“Maybe your grandpa had the right idea,” Ashton said in a grave voice, biting his lip as he seemingly tried to think of a way to cheer the older man up. “After all, we wouldn’t want you staining _your_ dentures, Michael.”

“Screw you! I don’t have dentures!” Michael yelled, the righteous indignation clear in his voice as his words echoed through the damp emptiness surrounding them. The breeze whistled through the trees and Michael laughed despite himself when he saw Ashton looking proud of his silly comment, his green eyes warm and so fond that the younger man became flustered. Ashton tucked his face away shyly into Michael’s shoulder, still giggling weakly, and the older man’s heart raced unevenly in his chest as his cheeks flushed with blood.

“Being all cute isn’t going to distract me from how mean you were about my coffee drinking habits,” Michael said pointedly, almost forgetting he even _hurt_ at the broad smile curving across the younger man’s face. Ashton’s dimples were creasing his cheeks again now but, by the mischievous light in his eyes, Michael had a feeling he was about to say something stupid.

“That’s beside the point. You’re still old enough to have dentures probably,” Ashton muttered, hiding his pleased smile behind his hands. The wind was picking up, the boughs of the pine trees swaying as the breeze tousled Ashton’s curls playfully. Michael shook his head slowly, still smiling faintly even as he calmed a little.

“Enough about how supposedly ancient I am,” he said but his voice was much softer now. “How old are _you_ anyway? Because I’m only twenty one and you can’t be _that_ much younger than me, surely?”

A strange look came over Ashton when Michael asked him his age, a hollow sort of smile that only succeeded in making him look sadder.

“I’m… nineteen. Nineteen I guess,” the younger man said, proving that Michael’s previous guess about his age had been correct. Ashton sighed as the words escaped, his eyes darting once more towards the old house before his gaze settled on Michael’s face. There was something almost pleading in the younger man’s eyes but Michael didn’t know what he was hoping for. He didn’t know why Ashton looked so _lost_.

“You don’t sound sure,” Michael teased and Ashton rolled his eyes, looking away and hunching his shoulders a little. Michael bit his lip cautiously, glancing irritably towards his laptop when a low power warning popped up before his green eyes flickered back to the sad slump of the younger man’s shoulders.

“So… no school or college or whatever?” Michael asked when it became clear that Ashton wasn’t going to break the silence. “You don’t have a job or anything?”

“No. Nothing at the moment,” Ashton said slowly, seeming to measure his words carefully before speaking them. “I’d love a job though. Something to do with sports or music or… or meeting _people_.” Ashton’s eyes shone for a moment before the light in them seemed to flicker out. “I love to meet people but… it never happens anymore.” He looked up hesitantly, giving Michael a shy smile that didn’t really touch his eyes. “You’re the first person I’ve met in a very long time.”

“Maybe you should get out of the house a bit more then,” Michael said but the statement was so obviously hypocritical that Ashton had to laugh. Michael knew there was something dishonest in the younger man’s answer and, despite not being certain of _why_ Ashton was keeping something from him, Michael didn’t push it. He understood that everyone had their secrets and he accepted it. It was a part of life.

“What job do _you_ do, Mikey?” Ashton asked curiously, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up in his palm. He was wearing the same red-checked flannel shirt as before but it was mostly fastened this time with only the buttons at his throat open to reveal the tanned skin. Michael swallowed, dragging his eyes back up to the younger man’s face and flushing when he realised he’d been caught.

“I work part-time in the Barn Door Shop down in Wasdale Head,” Michael said with a shrug. “I sell climbing gear, walking boots, camping stuff…” He listed them off on his fingers with an awkward smile before leaning forward to finish his coffee. The painkillers were in full effect now and he stretched his leg out fully with a quiet groan of satisfaction, relieved that he wasn’t aching at all. “I’ve done it pretty much since we came here. It’s kind of all I fill my days with.”

“It sounds… fun?” Ashton’s voice was doubtful and Michael laughed easily, brushing the younger man’s shoulder lightly with his knuckles.

“It’s not… but I can do most of it without leaving the hamlet which I enjoy,” Michael said. “Makes it easier when my sciatica is, like, trying to kill me so stretching my legs helps a bit.” Ashton’s expression flickered but his eyes became concerned as Michael’s tone became self-deprecating. “Plus we only have one car, and Luke and Cal need that to go be actual functioning adults so…”

“Mike, please...” Ashton’s teeth sank into his bottom lip as his palm settled lightly over the older man’s hand. “Don’t keep putting yourself down like that. You… you don’t see how _good_ you are but… I do. I can see it.”

“I can’t even walk properly,” Michael whispered, his throat thickening with the sudden tears he desperately fought against. “My dad couldn’t give two shits about me - thinks I’m a waste of space - and… and I tried to kill myself a few years ago and - and _fuck_ , I don’t even know why I’m _telling_ you all this shit because I only met you two weeks ago and I don’t know a single thing about you but… but I feel like you’re the only person I can even _talk_ to now and… and sometimes, when I’m talking to you, you make me feel less crazy than I am.” A tear slipped down Michael’s cheek as he inhaled shakily. “You make me feel like maybe I’m still going to be okay.”

Ashton pulled Michael into a gentle hug, his arms loose enough that the older man could pull away if he wanted to. Michael tucked his face away into Ashton’s neck as his arms slipped gently around the younger man’s waist and they both held each other for a moment. Ashton’s skin smelt… _cold_. It only made Michael hold him tighter, a soft sigh escaping him when he felt the pads of Ashton’s fingertips rubbing his back in comforting circles.

“Thank you,” Michael whispered when they finally had to break apart, his sciatica protesting the stretch as it throbbed dully. Ashton’s hazel eyes were soft and wet, his eyelashes spiky with tears. Michael hated that he’d made him cry but he hated that he’d put Ashton in this position even more.

“It was nothing,” the younger man said softly, shrugging awkwardly as he put a little space between them again. A part of Michael wished he wouldn't. “You’re… you’re my _friend_ , Michael.” He stuttered over the word and Michael’s eyes softened, growing warmer as he nodded confirmation. Seemingly heartened, Ashton grinned at him. “I want to be there for you. That’s what you do for your friends.”

Michael couldn’t stop himself from smiling at that, his heart damn near melting as he mussed Ashton's hair up. Despite the younger man making a big show of ducking out of the way, he still leant into the warmth of Michael's palm for a moment, apparently craving the comfort. Neither of them mentioned it.

"I'm glad you live next door," Michael said quietly and Ashton's mouth dropped open in shock, the younger man looking almost surprised before he forced a weak smile onto his face and nodded agreement. Worried that the younger man was still upset about something, Michael hurried to hopefully alleviate his concerns. "You know, besides Luke and Cal... well, I don't know." Michael smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I think you three are my only friends in the world... and I'm kind of oddly okay with that."

The last of the worry in Ashton's eyes bled away and he smiled happily, his expression becoming relieved as he lifted his feet onto the bench, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around his legs to keep him there. It made him look small and almost _soft_ , and Michael was glad Ashton trusted him enough to show him this side of him. He seemed nothing like the sharp-tongued man who had almost given Michael a heart attack by standing in front of the quarry truck a few weeks previously. He seemed uncertain and desperate for friendship now, and Michael was more than happy to give it to him.

"Tell me why you moved here," Ashton said and it didn't sound like a question. Michael allowed a small smirk to curve his lips but he couldn't deny that the words made his heart feel a little heavier in his chest because they reminded him of home... reminded him of the phone conversation with his mum a few weeks before... the noose in the moonlight and the horror knotting itself like thorny vines around Michael's heart.

"Well... I don't really know where to start. There were a number of things that contributed to it I guess..." Michael's voice trailed away uncomfortably but, when Ashton seemed content to simply watch him, the red-haired man felt braver. "Um... so I guess I've never been that happy at home really? Like, I love my mum to pieces and my grandpa was, like, my role model when I was a kid probably. He used to take me outside on clear nights and let me look through his telescope sometimes. I'd see planets and stars and... and whole _constellations_ , Ashton." Michael's eyes were almost shining now and Ashton smiled at him encouragingly, gesturing for the older man to continue. "When my grandpa died half a year ago, I just couldn't stand being at home anymore. My mum was sad I guess but... he was my dad's _father_... and my dad never even cared. It just made me hate him… and dad _loathed_ everything about me. He’s the reason I’m in almost constant pain now and… I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t stay there for even a moment longer.”

Michael seemed to be struggling with his words and Ashton took his hand gently, giving it a brief squeeze before he withdrew to take the baseball from his pocket. He looked down at it with sad eyes for a moment before he pressed it gently into Michael's palms, curling the older man's fingers around it. Somehow, it seemed to help.

"My... uh... my therapist thought it would be a good idea too," Michael continued, unable to meet the younger man's gaze as he rolled the ball carefully across the table, letting it bump lightly against his laptop. "A clean break... that's what she said." Michael shrugged, glancing up warily and visibly relaxing when he saw Ashton watching him softly, without a trace of judgement on his upturned face. It felt strangely good to say the words out loud; made him feel _lighter_ almost. Michael had never confessed to feeling these things to anyone except his therapist before. It felt surprisingly cathartic.

"When I found out Luke and Calum were planning to leave London, it seemed like the perfect opportunity," Michael continued. "I don't know why they chose this place though. I wasn't with them when they looked around it - I was in way too much pain to even get out of bed at the time - but... I don't know. They don't love the house so much anymore. I don't mind it though." He glanced once more towards the the old building but his eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw Ashton levelling a dark look at the house. "There's definitely _something_ weird about it here but... it's sort of starting to grow on me now. At least I'm not back home with my dad anyway."

Ashton's face darkened but he still managed a weak smile when Michael tossed the baseball back towards him lightly.

"My dad was awful too… in the end," Ashton admitted, glancing around fearfully before he shifted a little closer. "I love my mum though. She was the kindest person in the world."

Michael felt his heart break in his chest when he saw the sheen of tears in the younger man's eyes. He knew without a doubt that she was dead and the fact that Ashton was stuck alone in a house with a man he hated made Michael want to break down. He fought against it though, determined to make Ashton smile again.

"Tell me about her," Michael said softly. "Please. I want to hear about the woman who raised someone as lovely as you."

Ashton ducked his head, his hazel eyes gleaming with gratitude in his tired face. His curls were messy when he dragged his fingers through them nervously and Michael’s hand was trembling a little when he reached to help flatten them. The younger man closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his cheek subtly into the older man’s palm.

“My mum was… She was _everything_ to me. Still is,” Ashton admitted softly, still refusing to open his eyes. Michael’s thumb stroked the soft skin beneath the younger man’s eye and Ashton’s eyelashes fluttered when he looked up at him with something like longing on his face. “She was so patient and kind. Beautiful too. _So_ beautiful.”

“I can well believe that,” Michael mumbled without meaning to, his emerald eyes tracing the younger man’s face and liking what he saw there. Ashton’s cheeks heated and, despite the grin that he seemed to be trying to smother, he shoved the older man weakly in the shoulder.

“Do you want to hear about her or not?” he demanded but he was trying not to smile and Michael didn’t regret his throwaway comment for even a moment. Instead, he simply nodded silently and pressed his lips together, fighting not to show just how ridiculously _fond_ he felt. “She loved Abba and dancing and… and _me_. She used to be able to make me laugh when no one else could. Like, no matter how shitty school was or how dumb I felt when I couldn’t do my homework, she always used to cheer me up.” Ashton hesitated, taking in the soft look on Michael’s face and seeming to steel himself for a moment. “She believed in, like, witchcraft too. _Spells_ and stuff.”

Michael’s expression quickly became delighted and the prickly defensiveness that Ashton had apparently been prepared to wrap himself in fell away like water.

“My mum is the same!” Michael said excitedly. “She’s even given me her Book Of Shadows to work from while I’m stuck up here without her. I… haven’t told Luke and Calum she gave it to me. I don’t think they’d understand.”

“It’s probably not quite what they imagine,” Ashton said wryly. “I mean… burning candles and herbs… energy and intent… It’s not waving a magic wand and bringing a beloved rabbit back from the dead, is it? Like, you can’t change something that isn’t already going to happen but maybe you can alter how you’ll feel about it, right?”

Ashton’s face suddenly softened and he continued in a softer voice as his eyes grew misty with old memories: “Mum used to do that for me a lot. She used to draw sigils for me whenever I was having a bad time. They used to make me feel less anxious or depressed or whatever. She had some good pain remedies too.” Ashton’s eyes were focused again now and he was giving Michael a knowing look. “I don’t know if any of her books survived but maybe there’s something in them that could help you.”

Michael looked even more excited now and Ashton relaxed visibly as a broad smile spread across the older man’s pale face.

“Your mum was a witch too,” Michael blurted out and he definitely looked impressed. “That’s so fucking cool.” Ashton giggled a little despite himself.

“She dabbled,” he said with a shrug and Michael shook his head, his eyes glittering.

“Our mum’s are cooler than us,” he said and Ashton’s laughter sounded bright in the misty morning.

“Infinitely,” the younger man agreed. “Now that’s enough about me. Tell me about your friends please. I want to understand them better.”

“You’re odd,” Michael said, reaching out unthinkingly to poke the younger man on the nose. Ashton ducked his head, snorting weakly with laughter although his hazel eyes were glittering. He seemed to mean what he’d said though and Michael shrugged, considering carefully before he began to speak.

“My friends are… a little obnoxious,” the older man began wryly. Ashton shoved him gently in the shoulder.

“Do it properly,” he said in a reproachful voice and Michael held his hands up defensively, green eyes warmer than they’d been for a long time.

“I _am_ ,” he said lightly, settling back more comfortably in the chair as he continued. “My friends are a little obnoxious… _but_... they’re also two of the nicest guys I’ve ever met… or they were, at least until we came here.” The wall Michael had built to keep his two best friends shut out started to weaken beneath the weight of his emotions. “They insisted on being there for me when I wouldn’t even let anyone else get close.”

He felt older as the truth of his words sank in but it also made the icy pit in his heart begin to melt and he found he was surprisingly glad of it.

“They used to spend a lot of time clubbing when we were back in the city. They liked bars and dating weirdos because they were trying to pretend they weren’t head-over-heels in love with each other.” Ashton was listening intently as Michael gave a fond shake of his head, unable to completely keep the tiny smile from twisting his lips. “I had a wager going with their siblings actually. We were all betting on how long they’d take to finally confess.” Michael pulled a face, looking vaguely disgruntled. “Cal’s sister won. I misguidedly thought they were less stubborn than this… then again, they’re official now, aren’t they? Maybe I should get the exact dates from them and see if Mali owes me some money.”

Ashton snorted with amusement but gestured for Michael to continue, his hazel eyes hopeful in his tanned face as he gazed up at the older man.

“Um… what else can I tell you?” Michael mumbled, frowning faintly before his lips suddenly tugged up into a faint crooked smile. “I met them when we were just kids. I’ve known Cal since I was five years old and we met Luke in the drama class when we were about fourteen. We got put in a group with him and he turned out to be so good that we actually took the lesson seriously for once, and the teacher kept putting us together after that. I guess I’m glad she did. We’d probably never have spoken without her, let alone become best friends…” His voice trailed away for a moment as he recalled how bitter he’d been feeling recently and something that was almost guilt coloured his face when he met Ashton’s eyes. “They’re like the brothers I never had. I love them both to pieces.”

“They love you too,” the younger man said and it wasn’t a question. His face fell when he saw Michael wince slightly at the growing pain in his leg but the curiosity in his eyes didn’t dull. “Tell me more,” Ashton pressed softly. “Please. I… I really like hearing about them.”

Since Michael was beginning to get the feeling that maybe Ashton didn’t have many friends of his own - and _god_ , he hoped he wasn’t the only one - he couldn’t blame the younger man for being curious. Luke and Calum shone so brightly that it seemed almost expected to the older man that they would guide people in. It had worked for Michael after all.

“Uh… let me think...” Michael scratched the back of his neck, chewing his lip as he mulled over what to say. “Huh. I guess we’ve all been on some good holidays together too? Like, back before my sciatica got bad at least.” Despite the downcast expression on his face, Michael kept his tone as cheerful as possible, not wanting to make Ashton sad. “We went to Sydney and Los Angeles and… and Finland once too. I liked Finland most. We saw the Northern Lights there and it was… it was absolutely breath-taking. I remember wishing I’d brought grandpa with me so that we could gaze up through the telescope together.”

Ashton’s face softened and his hand was trembling a little when he reached to let it settle gently over Michael’s.

“We don’t get to see the Northern Lights here unfortunately but the snows can be impressive,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it slides down off the mountain and covers the road, and none of the trucks from the slate mine can get through. You don’t realise how much noise they make until it stops. It’s just… silent.” His expression flickered and he smiled humourlessly. “ _Deadly_ silent.”

There was something strangely melancholy in the younger man’s face and Michael hated that he could see it festering there… wanted nothing more than to wipe it away and leave him smiling underneath.

“So,” Michael said impulsively, keen to distract Ashton from whatever was making the growing sadness unfurl on his face. “What do you think of Cal and Lukey then? Are they everything you imagined? Are you impressed?” His tone was distinctly sarcastic but the younger man simply nodded earnestly.

“Yes,” Ashton said softly. “They sound very… alive.”

“Well, they are,” Michael joked, green eyes glittering. “They were the last time I checked anyway.”

Ashton forced a giggle but he looked faintly sad again and Michael watched him uneasily, aware that that had been a strange thing to say.

(With hindsight, Michael realised Ashton said a _lot_ of odd things. He figured that maybe Ashton had wanted him to know his secret from the very beginning.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!  
> Please let me know what you thought (if anyone is still reading this)! <3


	11. the nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is weird and quite short but it's gone 2am and I can't sleep so this is probably the best you're going to get. I hope it's okay.

Michael knew he was dreaming because he was running through the house without pain.

The wooden floorboards were rotting and splintering beneath his feet, and Michael lurched unsteadily as he staggered through the shadowy house. Luke and Calum were nowhere to be seen, and Michael’s heart was pounding fit to burst in the fragile cage of his ribs.

He could feel someone following him - something dark and dangerous and _close_ \- and the panic inside ignited like a flame to gasoline.

Michael was crushing the Polaroid of the family from the attic in his sweaty, shaking hand as he burst into the living room, desperate to be free of the sinister figure chasing him.

A choked gasp escaped him when the windows shattered, the shards of glass tumbling like blades as the scratching branches of the gnarled old oak tree forced their way in to claw at his face and the noose swung ominously towards him.

Michael shouted out in pain and fear, covering his eyes protectively with his hands, and when he lowered them he realised with a jolt of shock that everything had changed.

A carpet of thick moss covered the floor and the ferns outside had forced their way in, twisting up in tangled snarls through the broken floorboards to knot like shackles around his ankles, binding him in place.

Dimly, Michael wondered if their living room now resembled The House In The Forest and felt his stomach lurch sickeningly as that thought crossed his mind.

Thorny vines joined the ferns around his ankles now and Michael was crying when he tried to tear them away because it was utterly useless; all that happened were the thorns piercing the sensitive skin of his palm.

He could hear his grandpa’s voice in his head, the words too soft to make out although the pain in them was obvious, and Luke and Calum’s concerned voices were joining the din now as thunder rumbled directly overhead.

A bolt of lightning seared down through the ceiling and the Polaroid was torn from Michael’s hand.

He glimpsed it for a fraction of a second before it was lost in the shadows, momentarily illuminated in a way that made his blood run cold as he saw the ominous spatters of red liquid running down the glossy surface before it plummeted to land on the rotting floor beside a rusty knife that had appeared from the shadows.

A strangled cry ripped out of his throat as the lightning struck his leg and Michael lurched violently awake, tangling his gangly limbs in the duvet and crashing down onto his bedroom floor hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs.

He was sobbing as he lay curled on the floor, his cheeks stinging with what had to be boiling tears, his sciatica _agony_ as a shudder tore through him. His pyjama shirt was sticking to his back with sweat and Michael was almost sick when he forced his eyes open to see blood welling on his palm in just the same place as the thorns in his dream. His throat felt sore from how hard he’d been crying but all Michael could feel was gratitude that Calum and Luke hadn’t been woken by his nightmare.

They already thought he was broken; they didn’t need to see him like this too.

Michael clawed his way to his feet with more pain than he could ever remember feeling, the hot tears leaking sluggishly down his blotchy cheeks as he dragged his cane towards him. He could hear rain pounding against the glass outside and, when thunder rumbled ominously overhead, his heart lurched in his chest as the finer details of his dream came rushing back.

His bedroom door creaked achingly loudly when he pushed it open but the hallway was bathed in bright light as the storm lit the sky outside, and it was different enough to his dream that Michael found the courage to drag himself upstairs towards the bathroom.

It took a very long time for him to climb the stairs, his bad leg weak beneath him as his back ached with pain. He made it without falling though, his cherry-red lips twisted into a grimly satisfied smile that never once touched his eyes, and Michael relaxed visibly when he limped into the pitch black bathroom.

He heard a muffled sound coming from Calum’s room - a word spoken in the younger man’s sleep maybe - but all thoughts of potentially having woken his oldest friend went straight out of Michael’s head when he made the mistake of turning the bathroom light on.

The sight that greeted him in the mirror was horrifying. Michael’s face was littered with scrapes and scratches, and the splinters puncturing his pale skin were unmistakable. There were even dried leaves tangled in his blood-red hair and Michael’s jaw fell open in shock as he stumbled backwards, jarring himself painfully against the edge of the bath. His blackened, bruised eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he struggled to regain control of his breathing but, when he opened them, he swore he almost passed out.

His face was clean and unblemished, no dirt or blood in sight. His eyelashes remained spiky with tears but the bruises staining his skin from the cruel tree branches were gone, along with the splinters and the leaves. Even the thorns tearing the skin of his palm had vanished although a graze remained - maybe from where he’d fallen out of bed? - and Michael sat down on the edge of the bath weakly, tangling his fingers in his scarlet hair as he pushed his fringe back from his sweaty forehead. He still felt shaky but the relief was starting to seep through him now as the reality that everything was back to normal sank in.

God, Michael needed to stop consuming dairy products before bed probably.

He rose stiffly, smiling wryly at himself in the mirror as he filled his palms with cool water in the sink and splashed his sweaty face with it in an attempt to cool down. He could _almost_ laugh at himself for having such a ridiculously vivid imagination… at least until he finally began to pay attention to his surroundings and identified the sounds he could still hear coming from Calum’s room.

He’d been right earlier when he thought it was a voice but the significance of _who_ was speaking made Michael flush scarlet when he realised it was Luke. The blond man’s voice was rougher than usual, the words soft and pleading as he gasped out “ _please, please, please_ ” before Calum presumably kissed him silent.

Michael could hear the gentle slap of skin on skin now that he knew to listen for it, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest when he heard a broken moan, a high whimper, their voices perfectly harmonised even now as Michael stood lifelessly on the cracked tiles of the bathroom, his shoulders slumped like he was carrying a great weight as the unforgiving light flickered before he reached out blindly to switch it off. Above him, the wet mark on the ceiling grew larger.

“You’re so - _fuck_ , Lukey - so fucking perfect. Love you so much. Always will, Lukey. _Fuck_ , always,” Calum gasped out desperately, the words so sincere and saturated with adoration that Michael almost plunged down the stairs in his haste to escape. His eyes were blurring with tears again although he wasn’t certain why; maybe it was the loneliness coursing like poison through his veins… maybe it was because he’d never felt so _unwanted_ before -

And then Michael remembered the earnest look in Ashton’s eyes that day on the porch, the softness of his voice as he told the red-haired man how great he thought he was; how _good_ Michael was, even if he couldn’t see it himself. Michael remembered sparkling hazel eyes hidden behind crooked glasses and heart-shaped lips with just the smallest hint of a smirk, and suddenly there was a confusing mixture of guilt and _lust_ rippling through him like wildfire.

Michael made it down the stairs in one piece somehow, his cane falling onto the floorboards with a muffled clatter as he got his bedroom door shut. His skin felt like it was stretched too tight over his bones but his thoughts were a mess of Ashton now; the tanned skin of his throat and the subtle strength of his grip when his long fingers had wrapped around Michael’s that day, helping the older man up out of the road.

Michael wanted to cry a little bit but he also kind of wanted to jerk off, and it was with a sticky hand and a heavy heart that he finally sank back down onto his rumpled sheets. Confusion was bleeding sluggishly through him as he breathed in the undeniable scent of the forest outside - maybe he’d left his window cracked open before he’d gone to bed - but his disturbing nightmare was all but gone from his mind now, buried under wave after rolling wave of Ashton; his face lit up with hesitant smiles... his hazel eyes glimmering... his baseball shooting up through the mist, only to land deftly in his waiting palm far below.

The red-haired man swallowed two pills dry and squeezed his eyes tightly shut in an effort to ignore the guilt he could feel but it was no good. All Michael could think of was Ashton.

It took him a long time to fall asleep again that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was okay!  
> Please let me know what you thought :)
> 
> Oh that horrible foreshadowing...


	12. the morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the delay!! You can thank my friend Rachel for the fact that I've finally uploaded because I kept forgetting :')  
> Rachel, this one's for you :P  
> Enjoy :)

Luke was frying bacon and eggs when Michael limped into the kitchen the next morning. The windows were misty with condensation, painting the forest as little more than a jade green blur through the glass. Michael leant against the doorway to take the weight off his bad leg, his tired eyes drifting over his best friend as Luke whistled softly.

The younger man’s blond hair was still a rumpled mess from the night before and, despite the weariness saturating his expression, his blue eyes were bright. Michael could see a bruise sucked into the pale skin of the younger man’s shoulder where Calum’s too-large t-shirt was slipping. Michael felt something that was almost jealousy unfurling inside him before Ashton’s soft hazel eyes flashed into his mind.

“I think your bacon’s burning,” the red-haired man called from his place in the doorway. Luke reeled around in shock, one hand flying to his heart as he slammed back against the counter. Michael snickered quietly at how jumpy his best friend was and Luke rolled his eyes, exhaling shakily as he gave the older man a disapproving look.

“You _really_ need to stop scaring me like that,” Luke sighed, his tone just a little bit sharp as he waited for his frantic pulse to slow. Michael’s lips twisted into a weak grin as he limped over to the kitchen table, sinking down into one of the wooden chairs with a quiet groan of relief.

“At least I wasn’t hiding through the serving hatch this time,” he pointed out, thinking back to that first morning when Luke had mistakenly thought he was hiding behind the door and had almost jumped out of his skin when Michael had revealed himself. “Luke, I wasn’t kidding. Your bacon really is burning.”

“Damnit!” Luke rushed to save it and Michael couldn’t quite resist it when he said: “Worried it’s ruined? I reckon Calum had enough meat last night so I’m pretty sure he’ll forgive you for this.”

His words didn’t even really make sense but the meaning was clear and Luke stiffened, muscles tense although he pointedly didn’t look back at the smaller man.

“That’s disgusting, Mike,” he said stiffly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Didn’t think it was disgusting last night, did you?” Michael muttered sullenly but Luke had turned to face him now, his lips pressed together tightly as he regarded Michael with something like disappointment. “Where is Cal anyway?” the older man continued, keen to stop Luke from frowning at him like that. “Another morning run?”

“Yep.” Luke was still watching him with grave blue eyes as he took the eggs and bacon off the heat. His cheeks flamed suddenly and he bit his lip, worrying the metal ring with his teeth. “We didn’t know you were awake last night or we wouldn’t have… y’know...” His voice trailed away awkwardly and he rubbed the back of his neck just a little too hard; one of his more obvious nervous habits in Michael’s opinion. “We wouldn’t have done anything to make you uncomfortable on purpose. I’m sorry if we did.”

Michael groaned, folding his arms on the table and burying his face in them for a moment before he turned to look up at Luke, his cheek resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Why’re you still being nice to me?” the red-haired man asked in a pained voice, his words coming out muffled when he buried his face in his arm again. “I literally _just_ said something shitty to make you feel bad and now you’re being nice to me. I really don’t think I deserve that.”

“Well… no offence, Mikey, but I’m kind of used to you being a dick,” Luke said with a shrug. “Doesn’t change anything though. I know you only act like this when you feel vulnerable or whatever, as shitty as that admittedly is. I can’t speak for Cal but I know you don’t mean it... not _really_ anyway. I try not to let it get to me.” Michael didn’t like that Luke had said ‘try’; did that mean sometimes he actually _did_ get hurt over Michael’s shitty coping mechanisms? That wasn’t fair at all.

“Fuck, that makes me want to crawl off and bury myself somewhere,” the older man said blandly, straightening up in his seat and resisting the urge to maybe punch himself in the face or something. “I’m sorry I’m such an arsehole, Lukey,” he said quietly, his cheeks flaming although hopefully that might at least convince Luke of his sincerity. “But… I’m happy for you guys.” When Luke looked doubtful, Michael’s face crumpled as the guilt burnt inside him. “I mean… I’m really trying to be,” he corrected, still looking uneasy. “Was… was last night your first time together or…?”

“Yeah,” Luke murmured, blushing now too although his was for a different reason. He looked sort of pretty with his pink cheeks and shining eyes as his lips curved up happily, and Michael thought he might be able to see what Calum saw in him. Luke’s smile could light a room. “Yeah, it was.”

Michael’s face softened and for once he didn’t try to hide how he was feeling. His therapist had always told him that he didn’t need to hide his emotions, especially from those closest to him; maybe he didn’t have to hide anymore, at least from his best friends. Maybe Luke deserved to know how he felt.

“Let’s see how much of this bacon we can salvage, yeah?” The blond man grinned as he turned to fix their food, dishing the fried eggs onto two plates before he grabbed the toast from the toaster. Calum would apparently be fending for himself once he got back from his morning run and Michael felt touched as Luke set his food down in front of him with a warm hand lightly squeezing his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Michael said softly as he grabbed his cutlery but Luke frowned suddenly, reaching out to take Michael’s wrist. His blue eyes were focused on the older man’s hand and Michael frowned as he followed Luke’s gaze, taking in the graze marring the pale skin of his palm.

“What happened there?” the blond man asked and Michael shrugged uncomfortably, tugging his hand free gently so that he could start cutting up his food. He shoved a piece of crispy bacon into his mouth and chewed it slowly, buying time although he wasn’t sure why. He just knew he didn’t want to think about how petrified he’d been the night before.

“I just… fell out of bed last night. Must’ve caught it on something,” Michael said with a weak shrug, fighting not to remember the thorns puncturing his skin or the terror in the bathroom when, for just a few seconds, his injuries had been _real_. “I had a bit of a nightmare and woke up thrashing around, and I must’ve over-balanced or something… I don’t know. It’s not bad though. Doesn’t really hurt.”

“You had a nightmare?” Luke asked quietly, his blue eyes sad. “Another one?” Michael shifted uncomfortably under the blond man’s gaze, not liking the sympathy in Luke’s eyes. Michael knew they were both remembering those sleepovers the three of them had had during secondary school; Michael always used to have nightmares which resulted in him waking up in tears and apparently the knowledge that this was something he still struggled with cut Luke deep.

“Oh, Mikey, I had no idea,” the blond man said gently, his blue eyes wide and sad. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I - I don’t know.” Michael had opened his mouth to say no but those weren’t the words that came out. He felt _small_ sitting hunched there at the kitchen table and Luke busied himself with his food, apparently aware that the longer he looked at Michael, the more uncomfortable the red-haired man became. “I guess it just… shook me up a bit?”

Michael stared fixedly down at his plate, rapidly losing his appetite now, but he could feel Luke’s eyes flickering towards him briefly and he felt the urge to tell him… to just spill everything that had been upsetting him. He didn’t want to tell Calum - the dark-haired man knew him better than anyone and he’d probably tell Michael’s mum if he heard how messed up his oldest friend was - but Luke was easier to placate. All Michael had to do was promise to take care of himself and the blond man would probably be appeased by that… and Michael got to vent a little too. That way everybody won.

“It was just really horrible,” the older man said softly. “Like… there was someone chasing me in the house, right? Some shadowy figure I couldn’t see.” Luke stiffened as he processed that but Michael continued on regardless. “The building was breaking apart around me; it was like the forest was trying to get inside and all the branches were cutting me, and I was -” Michael broke off before he accidentally revealed to Luke the Polaroid he’d found while he’d been up in the attic. “I was… I was scared,” he said lamely. “I was _terrified_. You and Cal were there… and I could hear my grandpa too but I couldn’t get to any of you and… and our house was turning into that overgrown house down the road and I felt like we were all going to be _trapped_ and… and it was just... not a very nice dream.”

Luke’s eyes were wide but he didn’t look alarmed; just sympathetic and mildly unhappy. He patted Michael’s wrist gently, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Shit, Mikey,” Luke said heavily. “No wonder you’re being irritable if you’re having nightmares like that.” The blond man seemed to hesitate before he looked up once more, fixing the older man with a long look. “You’re still bothered by that mysterious house you saw, aren’t you?” he realised and Michael shrugged uneasily. Luke shook his head, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he glanced in the direction his best friend had insisted it was.

“You still don’t believe it’s there, do you?” Michael murmured, chagrined. Luke looked uncomfortable but he set his jaw, watching the red-haired man with the same blazing determination that he had displayed back when they’d first met in drama class, when he’d asked Michael and Calum if they wanted to be friends with him.

“We’ve lived here for a couple of months now and I still haven’t seen it… not that I’ve really been looking for it,” Luke amended after a long moment. “But I don’t think you’re lying. I think you really do believe something’s out there… but I don’t know if it’s like that night with the ivy in the tree, Mike. I don’t know if you’re torturing yourself over something that was never there at all.”

Michael’s cheeks flamed scarlet and he dropped his head into his trembling hands for a moment, hating the ripple of fear that spread through him as he remembered his absolute terror that night; remembered the appalled look on Luke’s face and the poorly hidden fear in Calum’s eyes when they’d both started to wonder if Michael was losing his mind.

“I’ve never seen the house,” Luke repeated gently. “But I don’t want you to keep having nightmares about it so… so if you _want_ to then… then how about we take a walk over there after breakfast before Cal gets home? We can stretch our legs and maybe it’ll help your sciatica a bit, and we can put your mind at rest once and for all.”

Michael regarded Luke with wide green eyes, his exhaustion burnt away by the force of his surprise. “You’d really do that for me?” he asked quietly, barely able to believe it. “Even though the house might not be safe? Even though you thought a crazy person could live there?” Even though Ashton and his horrible father somehow _survive_ in it, Michael worried silently, going cold all over at the prospect of seeing the person who made the younger man look so unhappy and frightened for the first time.

“I don’t think the house is real, Mike,” Luke said softly. “So I have nothing to lose by coming with you, do I?” There was a note of finality in his voice and Michael didn’t like how mature it made the blond man sound; it matched the purposefully calming tone of voice Calum sometimes adopted when the red-haired man was panicking. It almost felt like they were leaving Michael behind.

“Does that mean you still think I’m crazy then?” the older man whispered, a note of fear creeping into his voice before he could beat it down. “You think I’m getting bad again? That I’ve been bad all along?”

Luke closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” the blond man said gently, still keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut like that would make this conversation easier.

Michael retracted his hand slowly, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

“You were thinking it though,” he whispered and the blond man didn’t seem to have an answer for that. He just opened his glassy, tear-wet eyes and pressed his lips together like he was trying not to cry.

Luke was looking at Michael like the red-haired man was breaking apart right in front of him and he had no idea how to save him.

Michael couldn’t blame Luke for that though.

Michael had never known how to save himself either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)  
> Please let me know what you thought <3


	13. the way things were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm sorry this has taken me EIGHT MONTHS to update. I'm the worst ever clearly.  
> I've had this chapter written for a while but I finally decided to post it. I want to get back into updating this story and, although it won't be very frequent, I like to think it won't take me over half a year to post again.  
> So, if anyone is still here, I hope you like this...

“Watch the step there, Mike. It’s slippery.”

Michael’s arm was looped unwillingly through Luke’s, his pale fingers biting into the taller man’s bicep as he struggled to put his weight on his bad leg. He should have brought his cane with him; should have swallowed his pride and let Luke in like he’d been planning to all along.

A large truck thundered along at the end of their drive, sending a cascade of dirty rain water flying into the air through the mist. The tendrils of fog coiled lovingly around the branches of the trees and Michael shivered, felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the unpleasant sensation of someone watching them began to settle in his bones. They were out on the pavement now, stumbling through the dappled grey light of the morning as the breeze whistled through the branches. A violent shudder tore through Luke and Michael stiffened as he realised the blond man felt it too.

“I think there’s something following us,” the red-haired man breathed and his fingers tightened on Luke’s arm.

“I know,” the blond man breathed, his face ashen. The wind was howling now and goosebumps crept across Michael’s pale skin. The trees rustled behind them and his blood felt like ice in his lungs.

“I think it’s behind us,” Michael choked out, hating the growing fear making his voice strangled. His green eyes were wide now and his pulse was pounding so loudly in his veins that he was surprised Luke couldn’t hear the roar of it.

“Fuck,” the blond man whispered, closing his eyes for a moment and biting his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Michael! What do we do?!” He was still speaking in a hiss, trying to keep quiet enough so that whatever was following them didn’t realise they were onto it. Their steps were cautious now, their breathing shallow and panicky. Michael swallowed against the bile rising in his throat, tightening his grip on Luke’s arm and silently wishing he hadn’t been too stubborn to bring his cane with him. That would have been a handy weapon now and Michael definitely wasn’t above using it to hit someone with if the need arose.

He absolutely refused to let something hurt Luke when he always tried so hard to keep his best friends safe. Only over Michael’s dead body would anyone lay a finger on him.

“We’ve gotta look behind us,” the red-haired man breathed, shivering despite himself as something a lot like dread unfurled in his chest. The rustling in the undergrowth grew louder and Michael could hear Luke murmuring to himself, soft words that sounded like: “Stop being a baby. It’s just an animal. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Michael didn’t agree with him. His heart was restless in his chest and he wished –

Fuck, he wished that _Ashton_ was here. He was calm and steady and comforting; he always made Michael feel like everything was alright.

But everything _wasn’t_ alright.

His mind was yelling at him that something was badly _wrong_ and Luke trembling beside him as he reached for his best friend’s hand only cemented it. The low roar of another truck was growing steadily louder through the mist and Michael’s instincts were screaming because he felt like it was _close_ now; like it was looming up behind them, prepared to strike.

He spun round with his heart in his throat, choking the air from his lungs as the truck thundered closer and Luke’s fingers cut off the blood supply to his hand. Confusion roared through Michael as his tear-wet vision steadied because… there was nothing there.

They were completely alone.

“Oh my god,” Luke said and he was laughing now but it sounded completely hysterical. “Fuck, Mikey, we’re such _babies_!” Michael’s green eyes crinkled with relief and he gave a low chuckle, running a hand through his crimson hair as the truck rumbled past them, the driver honking the horn in greeting.

“Phew,” Michael breathed. The blond man grinned at him as the pair of them turned around again and Luke reeled back in shock, a cry tearing from him as Michael found himself face to face with a figure standing there, dressed all in black. They wore a hood and they were less than a metre away, and when Michael remembered the awful cloaked figure in his nightmare, it felt like second nature to drag Luke off the pavement into the forest, a scream ripping from his lungs.

Luke let out a terrified sob beside him and all Michael could focus on was keeping his feet moving as his eyes stung at the pain rocketing down his leg. He felt half-blind with tears and that was the last thought that crossed his mind before he caught his foot on a twisted root which sent him hurtling face-first onto the forest floor, his elbow and ankle exploding with pain.

“Run, Luke! Run!” Michael cried but the blond man refused to leave him, simply throwing himself back and hauling Michael to his feet before a familiar sound greeted them.

Laughter. _Cackling_ almost. That crazy fucking laughter that they only ever heard when Calum pulled one of his infamous pranks and managed to _destroy_ them.

“Your faces!” the dark-haired man gasped out as he shoved his hood back from his sweaty face, still dressed in the black tracksuit he’d gone running in. “You should have seen your fucking faces! Oh my _god_ , you guys!”

“That wasn’t fucking funny, Calum!” Luke screamed, still breathing like he’d ran a marathon as he lurched forwards to smack the older man weakly on the chest. Calum barked out a laugh although he rapidly sobered when he saw the tears prickling in Luke’s eyes. The dark-haired man’s face fell rapidly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Calum said guiltily, his cheeks staining red now as he took in the blotchiness of Luke’s face and Michael’s anguished expression. “I was only joking around. I thought you’d guessed I was there. I… Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you like _that_.”

“You’re a fucking arsehole, Cal,” Luke spat tearfully but he looked mollified when Calum drew him into a hesitant hug, at least until he wrinkled his nose and said: “Don’t touch me until you’ve had a shower. You smell like our locker room back at school.”

“Harsh,” Calum said with a wince as he stepped backwards, glancing around at the shadowy trees that towered over them warily. “But I guess I deserved that though, yeah?”

“Too fucking right you did,” Luke snapped but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips now, like even when he was this furious, he still couldn’t stay mad at Calum. Maybe that was the price of falling in love with someone. All of your principles flew straight out of the window as soon as they so much as looked at you.

Michael turned away from them, a curious mixture of disgust and longing warping inside him as he reached out for a nearby tree branch, limping unsteadily as his knee loudly protested his impromptu run and the tumble he’d taken afterwards. He’d never been this far from the road before but he thought he recognised the trees anyway and it took him a long moment to realise why: Calum had chased the pair of them almost all the way to The House In The Forest.

Michael’s sudden fear felt like a fist gripping his heart as he spun in a clumsy circle, suddenly frantic with the need to see their house too. It felt almost like an anchor now, like something he needed to see before he stumbled any deeper into these trees. The forest felt ancient rising up around them now and Michael was panicking a little as he twisted in a circle, his green eyes searching frantically.

He felt half-crazy when he finally spotted their house through the smallest gap between the pine trees. It was like looking at something through so many spider webs that the shape was distorted but he could make out the old building all the same; the Victorian-era architecture and the ivy climbing the stone walls. For just a moment, the house looked ruined and Michael’s breath tore out of him in a shocked gasp.

What if that wasn’t their house at all? What if that _was_ The House In The Forest and the three of them were just hopelessly lost? What if Michael’s nightmare had come true and the trees had broken in to reclaim what had once been their own? It was like the first time Michael had staggered down the driveway of the mysterious house, realising that within a century there would be no evidence that the house had ever existed there at all… unless Luke was right.

Unless the house really didn’t exist and Michael was just losing his mind. He felt like crying as he stood there hopelessly among the trees, remembering the bruises and cuts marring his face the night before, the thorns breaking into his skin because the evidence was here right now in the sensitive skin on his palm. Michael curled his hands into fists, fighting back a sob.

“Mike?” Luke whispered and their sudden silence told him that they’d noticed how preoccupied he was. Michael spun round to look at them, his green eyes wild, his cheeks still crimson with panic and exertion. The pain on his face was unmistakable.

“Mikey, what’s wrong?” Calum asked gently. Michael raked a hand roughly through his blood-red hair, tearing at it as he felt a sinking feeling in his chest. This was like when Ashton had disappeared into the forest like he’d never been there at all; like the noose that was really just ivy that only proved how badly Michael was deteriorating.

“It should be here,” he whispered and, while Calum simply looked at him in confusion, Luke’s expression became grim.

“What should be here?” the dark-haired man asked gently, apparently detecting just how close to snapping Michael was. The red-haired man heaved in a desperate gasp, his eyes darting about frantically as he tried to gather his bearings.

“The House In The Forest,” he breathed before, suddenly, he was shouting. “That _fucking_ house! The one that you both insist doesn’t exist! The one that I _saw_! I can’t fucking find it and now you’re both gonna think I’m crazy and – and, fuck, you’re probably gonna call my mum and make her come bring me home and – and I’ll actually go mad if that happens, okay?! I’m gonna go fucking crazy if I have to go live in that shithole with my fucking _father_ , and all because I can’t find that fucking house!”

Michael’s eyes were stinging with tears and Luke was wearing that same appalled look from that night when Calum had ventured out into the cold to investigate the noose. Michael’s knees weakened beneath him and it felt like the sudden explosion had stolen all of the air from his lungs as he forced himself to turn away, to keep searching as he stumbled blindly through the trees.

“Mikey,” Calum whispered, his voice shaking with tears. “Mikey, where are you going?”

It had to be here. It _had_ to be. Michael could feel how close it was; could almost _feel_ the comforting aura that Ashton exuded whenever he was with Michael, tossing that damn baseball up and down as he talked in his soft voice.

They had to be close now. They just _had_ to be.

There was a break in the trees overhead and Michael rushed towards it with renewed vigour now, fighting against the pain in his leg, the twinge in his ankle after he’d fallen or what would surely be a magnificent bruise on his elbow from where it had struck a rotten tree trunk on his way down. He thought he could see a cracked flagstone up ahead and Michael’s breathing sped up as he limped hopefully towards it.

“Mikey, come back!” Luke yelled, voice cracking with strain. The pair of them were following him now but Michael could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising again; could feel the adrenaline burning in his system as the feeling of ‘ _this is it_ ’ began to settle in his bones.

The strange, suffocating atmosphere enveloped Michael as he burst through the trees onto the far side of the driveway. His vision was obscured by the colossal fallen tree that had tumbled down in front of the house but he could just about make out the slates on the roof; the slowly crumbling brickwork as the ivy bit into the walls. Michael’s relief made him feel dizzy and he almost lost his footing when Luke crashed into him from behind, leaving Calum far behind since the blond man’s legs were longer and he hadn’t been the one to go for a run.

Michael pitched forwards into the dirt and Luke looked frantic as he knelt to help him up, his eyes darting around with fear although the fallen tree trunk was the only thing at eye level now. There were hundreds of rings marking the wood and Michael hated to see something that must once have been so magnificent simply rotting now. There would be nothing left of it at all soon.

“Luke, did you see the house?!” Michael asked desperately but the blond man’s face was scared now, his expression rapidly becoming closed off as he refused to raise his head, apparently unwilling to peer through the branches towards the building that had been haunting Michael’s nightmares for so long.

“For… for just a moment I…” Luke was trembling violently now and it looked like the strange atmosphere was getting to him too. His voice became strangled. “Mikey, I thought I saw –”

“What?!” Michael gasped out frantically, gripping Luke’s broad shoulders tightly in both hands as he gave him a tiny shake. “ _What_ did you think you saw, Luke? A house? Did you see the house?!”

“What?” Luke choked out, shaking his head jerkily as he stared at Michael in complete shock. “I thought I saw a _kid_ , Mike! Just standing there in the trees! But… but I can’t have done, can I? There’s nothing around here for miles.”

Calum burst out of the trees behind them, dropping onto his knees as a wheezy breath escaped him. He looked exhausted now and, for the first time, Michael felt guilty at having dragged the pair of them so deep into the forest with him.

“Will you fucking _stop_ running off, Mike?!” Calum snapped and it was so uncharacteristic that Michael realised his best friend really _must_ have been stressed. “Jeez, you gave us a fucking heart attack almost and – Shit, Mikey, you’re bleeding!” Calum groaned. Luke’s face paled.

“Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” the blond man gasped. “God, why didn’t you say something, Mike? Why did you keep running?”

Michael could feel the situation sliding rapidly out of his control and it sent the panic burning in his veins again; the sheer fucking _unfairness_ because, even now, neither of them were taking him seriously.

“Please just forget the damn blood!” he cried. “What were you saying, Luke? What kid did you see?!”

“Mikey, drop it! You’re hurt!” Calum yelled, startling a crow from a nearby tree. It cawed its displeasure as it flapped up into the grey morning like an overgrown bat and Michael shuddered to watch it. His eyes were welling with tears again and he peered frantically through the branches as his two best friends hauled him to his feet, slipping their arms around his waist and shoulders as they led him back the way they’d come.

“Lukey, I can _see_ it!” Michael said desperately before they turned a corner, hiding the old building from sight. “The house was there! It was _right_ there! I swear it was!”

Neither of them said anything but they tightened their grips, almost like they were afraid he was going to escape again. He was acting crazy and they all knew it. Michael deflated like someone had stabbed him with a pin.

He was frightened for Ashton.

The fear came suddenly and unbidden, but it felt like he should have been dwelling on it all along as the worry unfurled inside him. He didn’t understand how the younger man could live in a place like that; the windows seemed broken and the driveway was impossible to navigate with a car, and there was no way someone could live here without a car. No way on earth.

Michael didn’t have a clue but he wanted to ask Ashton about it; needed to understand because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night with all of the damn questions spinning around like a hurricane in his head.

“We’re not going into those damn trees again,” Luke said suddenly, the heavy tone of his voice distracting Michael from his troubling thoughts as the blond man wiped his forehead shakily with the back of his hand. “This morning walk idea kind of sucked, didn’t it? What a fucking disaster.”

Michael badly wanted to make some stupid joke to lessen the guilt on Luke’s face but in the end it wasn’t necessary. Calum’s arm remained around the red-haired man’s shoulders but he reached to card his fingers gently through the soft blond hairs that grew at the base of Luke’s skull, simultaneously calming and reassuring. Michael’s shoulders slumped between them.

The three of them fell silent when they finally made it back onto the pavement, all of them breathing heavily and covered in scratches from the cruel overhanging branches that had whipped against them as they ran. Luke’s blond hair was in disarray and there was a dried leaf caught in Calum’s dark curls. When Michael glanced down at himself as his eyes continued to blur with stubborn tears, he saw that he was covered in mud and debris from the forest floor, and his jeans were torn open at the knee to reveal a shallow gouge in his pale skin. That was where the blood was coming from.

Any words he might have spoken to break the silence dried up in his throat and Michael felt like he was sinking into himself almost; felt like he was being locked away as Calum and Luke continued to tow him along beneath the empty grey sky.

A Land Rover drove past them slowly, kicking up a fountain of rainwater and mud, and Michael’s heart sank in his chest when Calum and Luke returned the driver’s wave. It was their neighbours from the house with the fairy lights and the conservatory, and Michael hated that the couple could see him like this now, when he was white-faced and bleeding, and fighting not to fall apart.

The car trundled out of sight and none of them spoke as they finally made it back to their own driveway, Michael limping heavily between them as his sciatica throbbed painfully. The blood on his knee was drying sticky and strange now, and his ankle still twinged from where he’d tripped in the forest. His breath was still coming in pants and he could barely see straight past the shameful tears boiling over in his emerald eyes as he hung his head, wishing he was anywhere else. His elbow _ached_ from where he’d fallen down.

He couldn’t even run when he thought his life depended on it.

He really _was_ as big of a failure as his father had always insisted.

“Did you see the house?” Luke breathed suddenly, his voice soft enough that it was clearly only intended for Calum to hear it. He wasn’t quiet enough though; Michael could feel the words cutting through him like knives. “Back in the trees when I was helping Mikey up. Did you see it?”

Calum hesitated but Michael felt the muscles tense where he was still leaning heavily against him.

“No,” Calum murmured at last and Michael’s heart sank like a stone in his chest. “I don’t think there’s anything there at all.”

Michael’s pent-up breath heaved out of him in a quiet sob but they all heard it and he loathed the angry tears burning down his face. He hated himself for dragging his two best friends into this stupid mess; hated that he could feel everything welling up chokingly inside him: the anger, the frustration, the agony, the fucking _terror_.

He hated the depression and the anxiety, and the bone-deep loneliness that not even Ashton or his two best friends could burn away.

God, Michael almost wished he _had_ been successful when he’d tried to kill himself a few years before. At least then he wouldn’t be dragging everyone else down into the fire with him. At least then they’d have a fucking _chance_ at being happy here.

That seemed like an impossibility with the way things were now.

Michael was sure he was losing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! (If anyone is left haha.)  
> I would love to hear what you thought :)


	14. before now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, hopefully this is okay. I wrote half of it like 6 months ago and half of it this evening so fingers crossed it reads alright!

The atmosphere in the car was akin to the drive home from a funeral, Michael was fairly certain. He'd just gone to the supermarket with Calum to pick up some groceries while Luke cleaned the bathroom and kitchen and, if Michael had hoped that it might prove a good opportunity to clear the tension, he had been sorely mistaken. His sciatica had pained him so much that he'd had to hold himself up on the trolley and Calum had just looked lost, wandering around with the shopping list clutched tightly in one shaking hand as he shot Michael helpless looks whenever he thought the older man was distracted.

Michael hated it so damn much. He wasn’t used to things feeling so strained between himself and Calum, and it was cutting him up inside. Calum was as good as a brother to him and the fact that things were so uncomfortable between them now was agony. Michael knew it was just because Calum was frightened; knew it was only because the younger man was upset that he didn't know how to help his oldest friend. Michael couldn't blame him for that. He couldn't be very easy to live with and the guilt was eating Michael up inside. Calum and Luke would always deserve so much better than the mess that was Michael, and he hated that they'd been put in this position almost as much as he loathed himself.

The tears came to his eyes unbidden and they made Michael _so_ fucking angry. He turned away from Calum as subtly as he could, squaring his jaw against the pain shooting down his leg. He gritted his teeth against the sob that wanted to escape him as he glared out of the window at the bleak landscape flying by outside. The sky was a washed-out grey and the drizzle was splattering against the windows as the wind ripped through the pine trees.

“Do you think Lukey will be pissed off that we couldn't find those yoghurts he asked for?” Calum joked weakly from the driving seat, his knuckles white with how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel in his discomfort. Michael wanted to appreciate that the dark-haired man was trying so hard to lighten the atmosphere in the car but Michael was fighting too hard not to break down in tears. He'd never felt more pathetic; nothing had even happened to upset him today - nothing _new_ anyway - and here he was struggling not to cry while his best friend cracked shitty jokes, exhausted and unhappy thanks to him.

“Mike?” Calum said uneasily. “Did you -” Calum faltered and presumably glanced over because his voice rapidly became saturated with concern. “ _God_ , Mikey, what's wrong? Why're you crying?” The only answer the dark-haired man received was a ragged sob tearing out of his best friend's chest and Calum grew frantic as he hurriedly stopped the car, letting it roll to a halt on a patch of muddy grass by the side of the road. He unclipped his seat belt and leant across to get Michael's undone too, leaving his hand settled gently on his best friend's knee afterwards.

“Mike?” Calum murmured, his chocolate brown eyes wide and soft when Michael finally dragged his gaze up to him unwillingly. His dark hair curled around his ears just the same as it had done back when they were only little and Michael's tears boiled over. “Is it your sciatica?” Calum asked helplessly. “Are you hurting? Fuck, Mikey, didn't you take your pills today? You should have said something!”

“It doesn't matter,” Michael choked out, his cheeks flaming with humiliation as he dried his tears hard with the sleeve of Luke's soft grey jumper the blond man had wrestled him into before the pair of them had left the house. He'd been worried about the red-haired man getting too cold and, with that thought in mind, Michael completely broke down in tears.

His shoulders heaved with sobs and Calum looked alarmed as he struggled closer, wrapping his arms warmly around the older man's waist as Michael sobbed into his neck. Calum seemed to realise that this was something more than just pain and he stayed silent as he rocked Michael gently, making soft calming noises under his breath as he kissed the older man's messy red hair.

“What's going on in there, Mikey bear?” Calum murmured, tapping Michael's forehead gently with his fingertip. “Tell me what you're thinking. I want to help.”

Michael tried to smile at him reassuringly but his pale face was blotchy from crying and the tears refused to stop falling.

“It doesn't matter,” Michael promised with absolute certainty, hunching up as small as he possibly could in the car seat. His back ached painfully and his injuries from falling in the forest the day before didn't feel much better, the gouge on his knee especially. “ _I_ don't matter. I'm not worth... anything.” Michael shrugged, a tiny humourless laugh escaping him in a huff as he let his overheated cheek press against the cool glass of the window. “I don't know why you keep me around. I really don't.”

Calum began vehemently to dispute this but Michael let the words wash over him like the rain outside, going limp in his best friend’s grip as the dark-haired man pulled him back in for another careful hug. All Michael could think was how much Ashton would hate to hear him talk about himself like that.

“Mikey, are you listening to me?” Calum asked and his voice was softer now as he rubbed the red-haired man’s tears away with the pad of his thumb. He waited until Michael was watching him before continuing. “We keep you around because we love you, Mike. We always will.”

Still shooting his best friend timid looks whenever there was a straight stretch of road, Calum hesitantly put the car back into gear and continued the drive home through the damp. He took the bends slowly and his hand remained gently squeezing Michael’s good knee whenever it was safe to steer with only one hand.

As they turned onto Deadman’s Rise and Michael’s exhaustion threatened to leech all of the oxygen out of the car, Calum let out a small noise of surprise as they saw one of their neighbours for the first time.

He was an older man with a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in a navy flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up as he cleaned his Land Rover with soapy water. He raised his hand to them in greeting and Calum slowed the car, unwinding the window so that he could greet the stranger for the first time. Michael watched him nervously, his reddened eyes tracking the bubbles making their slow way down the older man’s wrist as he wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Good afternoon, boys,” their neighbour said, smiling at them warmly as Calum reached out to shake his hand. The dark-haired man’s foot slipped off the clutch and the car stalled spectacularly, making the man let out a bark of surprised laughter. Calum groaned in embarrassment before grudgingly chuckling and even Michael managed to dredge up a smile.

“My wife Linda and I have been meaning to come and welcome you to the neighbourhood ever since you arrived,” the man said once their laughter had faded a little. “We’ve been renovating our house so I’ve been so busy that I kept forgetting to come over to introduce myself. I’m sorry it wasn’t earlier. We wanted to invite you boys over for dinner - and your friend. There _are_ three of you, aren’t there?”

“There are. Don’t worry about not coming over before now though - that’s okay,” Calum said sincerely. “We’ve been busy unpacking and getting set up with new jobs anyway so we probably wouldn’t have been great company.” They laughed easily together and Michael watched them as though through glass, his eyelashes still spiky with tears.

“My name’s John by the way,” their neighbour continued. “You know, Linda wanted me to invite you yesterday but it looked like you three were a little busy…” His voice trailed off delicately and he shot Michael a questioning look, his smile fading at the unhappiness on the red-haired man’s face. “What were you three up to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, we…” Calum hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “We were just looking to see if there were any other houses up on Deadman’s Rise. We had a…. well, a bit of a disagreement about it.”

John’s eyes softened when he saw Michael visibly wither at his best friend’s words and he quickly spoke over Calum.

“Well these woods can be pretty spooky at times. Why, it’s easy to lose your way and think you’re looking at something strange or new. Just the other day I was out with Derek and I got completely lost, and I’ve lived here nearly forty years!”

“Is Derek your dog?” Calum asked excitedly. “Because I’m sure I’ve seen you walking a dog around here before and I just wondered -”

John looked equally excited as they began to discuss dog breeds and Michael slumped back in his seat, vaguely considering death.

His leg flared with pain but Michael knew it didn’t matter.

The hurt was no more than he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
> Can't wait to hear what you think :)


	15. as the sun disappeared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So believe it or not, this chapter actually turned out happier than I'd planned... and weirdly, I really enjoyed writing it?  
> Things are hopefully starting to come together now and I really hope you'll all enjoy reading this!  
> Can't wait to hear what you think :)

“He’s _definitely_ a serial killer,” Michael joked weakly. “I mean, who else invites people they’ve never met before round their house for _dinner_? That’s kind of weird.”

“Maybe he’s just friendly,” Luke suggested, looking slightly awkward that he’d missed the introductions earlier that day. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself against the evening’s chill and his blond hair was soft under his beanie. “Maybe he and his wife are lonely up here. Maybe they just needed some company.”

“Or maybe they’re both serial killers,” Michael repeated sulkily as Calum locked their front door behind him. The dark-haired man gave Michael a wry smile as he bounded easily down the wooden stairs, apparently relieved that the older man was finally cracking jokes again.

The trees were changing colour as the slow procession started down the long driveway. Whereas the leaves had been bright rubies and ambers before, they were faded yellows and browns now. Autumn was already almost over and Michael wondered how he felt about it as he leant heavily on his cane.

Their time in the Lake District was flying past at an alarming rate. The events of the last few days already felt about a million years ago and Michael felt strangely _old_ as he followed his two best friends down the driveway, watching their fingers hesitantly entwine as they wandered along beneath the falling leaves.

“Oh crap,” Luke exclaimed when they reached the pavement, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as worry rippled on his face. “We have nothing to bring them as a present.”

Calum looked slightly concerned too and Michael’s heart softened in his chest.

Those two had had enough worry to last them a lifetime.

“Well I don’t know about you two,” Michael piped up, completely deadpan. “But _I’m_ bringing my sparkling personality.”

Luke snorted with surprised laughter, his posture becoming more relaxed as he turned to give Michael a beaming smile. The light in his eyes took Michael’s breath away for a moment and he felt like he was staring into the sun as he dragged his gaze away towards Calum’s happy, dimpled face.

Michael’s own relief melted away as his knee ached with pain but he fought to keep pretending that he felt happier than he was. He didn’t need them to worry about him again; didn’t need humiliating offers of them driving him twenty metres down the road or barely veiled concern at the state he had made of himself in the forest as he searched in vain for the house that may or may not have been there.

John was waiting for them as they approached the house, Luke pointing out the fairy lights dreamily while Calum admired the gleaming Land Rover. It was polished to a shine and Michael hastily avoided his reflection in the bright silver paint, not keen to take in his haggard face and the deep bruise-like circles staining the pale skin under his eyes.

“There you are!” John greeted them as Calum stepped up to shake his hand. “We were wondering what time you’d be round.” He glanced at Michael limping the last few paces with his cane and seemed to regret his words. “And you must be Luke!” John said to cover his blunder, giving the blond man a cheerful smile. “Pleasure to meet you, young man. Calum was telling me all about you earlier today -”

Michael zoned out as the introductions led them into the hallway. A grizzled old Yorkshire terrier lay curled up on a rug in the living room and Michael held its gaze for a moment, realising that this must be the famous Derek who Calum had been so excited to meet.

“- and this is my wife Linda,” John was saying as Michael refocused on the conversation, shooting Luke what was hopefully a calming smile when he noticed the blond man watching him uneasily for a moment. “She’s been so looking forward to meeting you boys.”

“ _Serial killer_ ,” Michael mouthed, because he was hilarious and a comedy genius, and felt rewarded when Luke hastily hid his laughter in a cough.

“Hello, boys. I thought it would be nice for us to eat in the conservatory,” Linda said with a warm smile, wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing over faded blue jeans and a hand-knitted wool jumper made from pearly pink wool. She reached out to shake their hands in turn, Michael’s last.

“The sunset should be beautiful tonight with how clear the day’s been. We’ll be able to see Scafell Pike while we have supper.”

“That sounds lovely, Mrs…?” Luke trailed off delicately and the older woman’s smile grew even kinder if possible. She looked like she wanted to pull all of them into hugs and Michael wondered vaguely if the couple had children of their own and, if so, whether they had moved out by now.

“Mrs Mclean,” she answered. “But please, love, I _insist_ you call me Linda. Now, how do you boys fancy a nice roast dinner? We have beef, some lovely potatoes, some homegrown vegetables, and a Yorkshire Pudding too. Should be enough to fill you all up, eh?” She suddenly looked worried. “None of you are vegetarians are you?”

“Not us. That sounds perfect, Mrs - _Linda_ ,” Luke corrected himself and the older woman didn’t seem able to resist reaching out to pat him on the shoulder.

“You boys go and sit down in the conservatory while I finish up the cooking,” she said fondly. “John, love, be kind enough to sort them some drinks please, yes? Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

Michael settled into a hard-backed chair in the conservatory easily enough, appreciating the natural light flooding the room as Calum and Luke made themselves comfortable on the sofa covered in a homemade patchwork blanket nearby. John settled himself in a chair beside Michael’s once the drinks had been poured.

“I must say,” he began in a conspiratorial tone. “It’s a relief to Linda and I that you boys have moved in across the road.” That caught Michael’s attention and he looked up with a frown on his face as Calum watched John intently, momentarily distracted from where he’d been fussing over Derek who had finally deigned to reward them with his presence.

“How do you mean?” Calum asked, his dark eyes strangely wary as the sun began to set in the sky outside. The world was slowly being painted in various shades of pinkish-red and John gazed out at the thin wisps of cloud for a moment before answering.

“Very occasionally some of the local kids down from Wasdale Head proper would break in to your new house,” he said carefully, giving a half-hearted shrug of one shoulder. “They used to mess around in there, playing with Ouija boards and the like. Used to say it was _haunted_. There were sightings too, supposedly - kids said they saw a figure in the trees, rope tied in the branches. _Apparently_ they heard someone screaming and other such nonsense. Ridiculous, isn’t it? The things kids will make up for attention these days.”

Calum scoffed at that and, although Luke looked a little frightened, he managed a weak chuckle too. Michael felt cold wash over him as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“Did that go on for a long time then?” Luke asked weakly, his face paler than it had been before this conversation had started. “The trespassing and stuff,” he amended when John looked at him silently. “How long has it been since someone lived there before us?”

John’s wrinkled face crumpled for a moment and he reached to stroke his beard thoughtfully, his eyes faraway for a moment as he remembered, counting the years on slightly trembling fingers.

“We’ve lived here since the late seventies,” he said slowly, seemingly out of nowhere. “Linda and I moved in after our wedding in Gretna Green. We had a boy, Casey. He’s almost forty now,” John said and he shook his head slowly in disbelief, reaching down to scratch gently beneath Derek’s collar. “A family lived in the house then. They’re the only family I’ve ever known to live there.”

“What were they like?” Michael asked without thinking. He didn’t know what had prompted him to say it and his voice was hoarse with misuse. John peered over at Michael through his glasses for a moment, his eyes fathoms deep as he took a steadying sip of his beer.

“They were very kind people,” the older man said softly. “Generous and friendly. It was just the three of them living there; a husband and wife, and their little boy. He was friends with our Casey, see? They used to play together in the street, football and the like. I’m sure those two explored all of Deadman’s Rise. No one knew the thoroughfare as well as they did.”

John settled back in his seat with a low sigh, his gaze drifting towards the mountain as the sun disappeared behind it. The conservatory was getting dark now but nobody moved to switch on one of the many lamps neatly placed around the room. The shadows stretched across the ground like ink.

“The boys escaped from our back garden once, a _long_ time ago now,” John said in a softer voice, his eyes shiny with tears as he took a big gulp of his beer. “They could only have been about four or five. They tried to ride their bikes up Scafell Pike, stabilisers and all. It was _hours_ before we could find them again. Linda and I were worried sick.”

He laughed quietly but the sound was distinctly watery and his eyes were damp, steeped in history. Quite suddenly, his chuckles died and he sniffed softly, his shaking hands settling on his knees through the worn brown corduroy of his trousers.

“Casey’s friend died,” John said quietly and, abruptly, Michael couldn’t stand to hear another word. He rose painfully, his jaw set and teeth gritted as the other three looked up at him in surprise.

“Sorry, I have to use the bathroom,” he explained awkwardly, cheeks flaming as he reached unwillingly for his cane. The gouge under his jeans was stinging from when he had fallen and Michael listened to John’s murmured directions inattentively before he limped out into the hallway towards the stairs.

It seemed to take him an age to climb them although, judging by Linda’s continued humming as she worked in the kitchen, neither his ascent nor their unnerving conversation could have taken very long at all.

Michael paused to catch his breath at the top of the stairs but it escaped him in a pained whine as his knee flared with pain and the red-haired man simply closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. When he opened them again, he saw Linda hovering anxiously at the foot of the stairs.

“Are you alright up there, love?” she asked. “I thought I heard -”

“I’m fine,” Michael interrupted before softening slightly at the fleeting wounded look on her face. “Sorry, I just… forgot my painkillers tonight… but it’s nothing I’m not used to. It’ll be okay when I sit down again in a minute.”

Her eyes became gentler as she climbed the stairs hesitantly, settling a cool hand lightly on his elbow through the sweatshirt he was wearing.

“You’re very strong,” she said quietly but, when he ducked his head in embarrassment to avoid her kind gaze, his eyes settled on something on the shelf behind her.

“That’s you,” he said quietly, taking in a faded photograph of a much younger Linda accompanied with a pretty woman who looked a little like the lady Michael had found a picture of in their attic. Both women were holding babies and Linda sighed softly as she reached to take the frame off the shelf, tilting it into the pool of amber cast from the streetlight outside so that they could both see it better.

“This is my son Casey,” Linda said, tapping the bundle she was holding in her arms. The baby had a pleasant sort of face, dark eyes twinkling with something that would one day become mischief as he reached up to grab a handful of his mother’s wavy blonde hair.

“He’s very sweet,” Michael replied and it surprised him a little to discover that he meant the words. “Is that him in this picture then? He looks so much like you… but he has John’s hair, doesn’t he? It’s very dark.”

Michael was pointing to another photo, this one slightly more recent. It showed three primary school aged children with their arms wrapped around each other - a dark-haired boy, a blonde girl, and a smaller boy with a wild head of curls.

Michael sighed wearily as he gazed down at their carefree faces. He could scarcely remember what those days spent with Calum had felt like.

“You’re right. That’s Casey,” Linda said with a smile which softened as she took in the children’s cheeky grins. “The little blonde girl is Bryana. They’re married now,” she added with a gentle tinkling laugh. “Would you believe that? Two kids of their own and another one on the way. It still doesn’t feel real.”

“Congratulations,” Michael said softly and Linda gave him a warm smile, her eyes growing damp with tears. She patted Michael’s hand where it had come to rest gently on her arm and something about the action reminded him of his mother. He swallowed past the lump rising in his throat with difficulty.

“Who’s the other boy in the picture?” Michael asked after a moment, one fingertip lightly tapping the curly-haired boy through the glass. Linda just shook her head sadly, a shaky sigh escaping her as she settled the frame carefully back on the shelf without looking at it.

“Maybe now isn’t the time,” she said before silently walking downstairs back into the brightly-lit kitchen.

Michael watched her go, standing there silently in the dark as his confusion reared up like the great mountain behind him.

Feeling as though he was being watched, Michael turned away from the window fearfully, his eyes settling once more on the faded photograph as he looked at the children’s faces staring blindly back at him.

The picture of those three friends - so much like Michael, Luke, and Calum - remained fixed firmly in his vision even when the red-haired man turned away. He felt uneasy as he began the slow limp back downstairs but, no matter how much he tried to bury himself in conversation, it did him no good.

He couldn’t shake the worry from his mind and the picture refused to leave his thoughts.

The boy looked just like Ashton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please remember to leave kudos and comments, and don't forget to subscribe!  
> Your feedback means so much to me <3
> 
> More Ashton soon hopefully...


	16. mad all along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this is okay!! You can thank Laura (maluminspace) for inspiring me to update so quickly :D

The spell jar was full of lavender flowers, chamomile, and elderberries - anything Michael could think of to promote peaceful sleep.

He'd been having nightmares again, dreaming of blood curdling screams and a swaying noose, and the screech of brakes piercing the stillness of the night.

Even swallowing a few painkillers when he lay in bed at night wasn't enough to knock him out anymore. Michael was at his wits’ end, hence him finally turning to his mum's Book of Shadows for an answer which was what had led him to this moment: sitting painfully at his desk after waking from yet another nightmare at little after four in the morning.

The tears he had woken up to were drying sticky on his cheeks and his expression was doubtful as he limped over to set the jar on his bedside table. Michael gazed at it dispassionately, taking in the messiness of the sealing wax and how uneven the layers of ingredients were inside the jar. He chewed on his bottom lip unhappily; it looked nothing like the ones his mum made.

He'd talked to her on the phone the night before actually, somehow managing to reassure her that he was doing well up here, enjoying life and befriending the neighbours. She had sounded happier than Michael had heard her in months. It was all he could do to keep his voice from shaking as he lied to her.

When the clock reached five and he still didn't feel tired, the red-haired man pushed himself laboriously to his feet and - after swallowing a few painkillers dry and shrugging into his dressing gown - Michael struggled into the kitchen.

Intending to make himself a coffee, he filled the kettle and stood there for a moment in the empty room, arms wrapped around himself as the humming of the fridge filled the silence.

Quite abruptly, Michael felt so unbearably lonely that he couldn't stand to spend another moment longer in the house.

He flicked the kettle off before it was ready and poured the lukewarm water over the coffee granules, his pale hands trembling a little as they steadied the mug.

Michael felt tired and _old_ , and his movements were painfully slow as he made his way outside onto the porch.

It was still dark out there, the sky a dull charcoal grey as Scafell Pike soared into the emptiness. The wind howled through the pine trees and the distant rumble of a truck sounded in the distance.

Michael shivered, quite taken aback when one single hopeless tear rolled down his cheek. He hadn't been expecting it but more followed and he simply let them fall as he settled down on the bench.

His coffee burnt his lips despite him not letting the water come to a boil. His mind was _racing_.

Michael had gone back up into the attic yesterday while his friends were out shopping. He'd knelt there in the dust for well over an hour, trembling hands spreading out the Polaroids from the trunk as his tear-filled eyes drifted over them desperately.

He'd found pictures of the previous family who had lived here back in the seventies. Their home hadn't yet been renovated and to see it looking so much like The House In The Forest did now had shocked Michael to the core. He had never realised that he and Ashton lived in such a similar space.

There was still something he was missing though; Michael was _sure_ of that but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

All he knew was that he'd sat there in the shadowy room for so long, his instincts screaming at him to _notice_ for once, his posture tense as that ever-present sensation of being watched followed him even there.

Sometimes Michael wondered if there was anything there at all.

Sometimes Michael wondered if he'd been going mad all along.

He'd been so shaken up that, even when Luke and Calum finally made it back (an hour later than planned with love-bites sucked into their throats), Michael hadn't been able to hide it.

He'd been in a strange mood because of it all weekend and the unpleasant fog of confusion followed him into his Monday morning shift at the Barn Door Shop.

The only time he had felt anything like his old self during that week had been on Monday evening when he came back from work.

Luke and Calum had been lingering in the kitchen, heads close together as they discussed what their neighbour had said about kids breaking in to use Ouija boards.

The pair of them had jumped so violently when Michael had limped into the kitchen with his cane - Luke wincing sympathetically at the sight of it - that the oldest man had actually managed a weak laugh at their shocked faces.

Calum’s hand slipped from where it had been resting on his boyfriend's back and Luke's face fell a little, like a cloud passing over the sun.

“How was your day of being a Super Ranger?” Michael asked Calum a little sarcastically as he went to rummage in the fridge for something to eat. Luke snorted but Calum only looked disgruntled.

“Same as always,” the dark-haired man said sulkily. “And then I came home and found out that leak in the bathroom is worse than ever which is just fucking _brilliant_.”

“We really should call out a plumber,” Luke said glumly but Calum simply scowled.

“I just wish we knew what was causing it!” he muttered.

“I bet I can guess what it is,” Michael said as he turned his face away, aiming for nonchalant but probably failing badly. “Some of the roof tiles have probably come loose. I bet there'll be water marks on the surrounding rafters.”

He smiled innocently at them as they gawped at him in surprise but Calum was the first to recover.

“You really are the son of an estate agent,” he said but, for once, being reminded of his father didn't hurt Michael anymore.

His old world felt too far away from this strange green planet he had found himself on now.

Those London ghosts couldn't touch him anymore.

Michael shivered again as the wind picked up once more, stirring the branches of the oak tree that grew beside their house as the trunk creaked. His coffee was cold now. The sky was bleak overhead.

Michael thought again of the family’s pictures he had found in the attic; the young parents with their baby wrapped in its soft blanket.

He thought of John and Linda’s son Casey who would be in his forties now, married with kids and maybe even a pet.

Michael thought of an empty baseball glove and the strange boy in the picture at the Mclean’s house who had looked just like Ashton.

Michael wondered what had happened to him.

He wondered where the boy was now.

When the red-haired man looked up next, Ashton was standing just beyond the porch, even despite the early hour. His glasses were still crooked. The baseball still filled his large palm.

Michael's heart fluttered in his chest.

“Hey, Ash,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Mike,” the younger man said gently. “You look exhausted. Why don't you sleep?”

“If you come and sit with me,” Michael said hopefully, gesturing to the bench as obligingly as he could. Ashton considered the request before smiling softly.

“Just for a little while,” he agreed as he climbed the steps.

The curly-haired man slipped his arm gently around Michael's shoulders and, thinking of the spell jar on his bedside table, the older man felt something calm inside him.

The sun rose slowly over the mountains and the golden light spread across the driveway like the inexorable push of the tide.

Lying cushioned against Ashton’s chest, Michael slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Can't wait to hear what you think :)


	17. with all his heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrore this in my lunch break so hopefully it was okay!

The light was soft in Michael's bedroom, the quilt a little threadbare beneath him as he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and relishing feeling little pain for once. A smaller man was huddled up next to him, cheek on chest, waist narrow under Michael's limp arm. The red-haired man sighed contentedly.

The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, even as winter sank its teeth into the landscape outside. The oak tree was losing its leaves and an icy wind howled down the mountain.

“This is nice,” Michael murmured sleepily, cuddling closer. “Damn, why have you never been in this house before?”

Ashton raised his head from where he had been lying in the circle of the older man's arms, still cold even despite the heater. He smiled but it didn't reach his tired hazel eyes and that was the only answer Michael received.

The younger man had never accepted one of Michael's invitations before - the red-haired man assumed he was shy of meeting Luke and Calum - but they were alone tonight after the other two had gone to the Santon Bridge Inn for a date and Michael had been determined to spend the evening with Ashton.

“You have quite a few spell jars in here, Mike,” the curly-haired man said out of nowhere as he glanced around the bedroom appraisingly. “I didn't realise you'd followed in your mum's footsteps like this.”

Michael's cheeks heated as he glanced around the room, seeing what Ashton was seeing for the first time: the sheer number of spell jars littering the surfaces; the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling: a grid of crystals charging on one corner of the desk; even the start of an altar on a rickety little table by the wardrobe, cluttered with candles and fading tarot cards.

Michael didn't let Luke or Calum come in here anymore. His room was private, just like so much else of his life these days.

Somehow over the last few months, Michael had become a closed book.

“You don't think it's weird, do you?” the red-haired man asked uncomfortably. “I'm not sure my friends would get it - Cal especially - so I've been keeping it quiet.”

Ashton rolled over to look at him fondly, socked feet tucked under his knees, shoes discarded on the floor nearby. His eyes glittered dully as he lay his hand briefly on the older man's cheek.

“I think it's brilliant, Mikey,” Ashton said softly, his expression blazing sincerity. “It reminds me of my mum.”

“Mum gave me her Book of Shadows,” Michael confessed reverently and Ashton’s face crumpled with something too fond to be pain.

“Mine left hers to me too,” the younger man said after a moment of consideration. “But my dad… Well, when he went… when he turned _bad_... it got destroyed I think. I never saw it again.”

The frown on Ashton’s face was far too mild in comparison to the pain in his eyes and Michael had to swallow hard past the lump rising in his throat as he drew the smaller man into a hug.

“That's terrible,” Michael said weakly, wishing in vain that he knew how to help and deciding that perhaps he should try to remain positive. “But… do you remember any of the spells? Maybe you could start your own.”

Ashton’s sad eyes became thoughtful and he gave Michael a wan smile that did little to brighten his features.

“I remember a couple of things,” he hedged, still looking uncertain. When Michael encouraged him to give an example, Ashton looked a little more confident. “Okay… here's one: if you write a wish on a bay leaf and then burn it, it can help the wish come true.”

“I love that!” Michael said excitedly. “I think my mum knew that one! I want to do it right now! We have bay leaves in the kitchen too I think. Ashy, can you pass me my cane please? I'm going to go find us some.”

Ashton hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and reaching for the cane. Michael watched the concentration on the younger man's face and found it so sweet that he almost forgot his excitement for a moment.

“I'll be right back,” he said softly, one hand absently brushing Ashton’s curls out of his eyes before Michael blushed in realisation of what he had done and hurried away as quickly as he could manage.

Out of the corner of his eye as he disappeared through the door, Michael was sure he caught Ashton smiling to himself.

The red-haired man located the bay leaves easily enough and returned to his bedroom with two carried carefully in his palm. He sighed with relief when he discovered that the curly-haired man was still waiting for him on his bed and a smile lit up Michael's face when Ashton patted the spot next to him in invitation.

Michael rushed lighting the candle and finding them each a pen so that he could return to the bed, and his eagerness was so obvious that Ashton let out a peal of laughter, his dimples creasing his cheeks and melting Michael's heart in his chest.

“Here you go,” the older man said softly, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn't have a chance to crack like it wanted to. “Now we can both make a wish.”

Michael turned away from Ashton for privacy, balancing the leaf on his good knee before he leant forwards to write on it.

_I wish Ashton will end up somewhere he can finally be happy._

The letters were cramped and messy, the words barely legible, but Michael desperately wished they would come true with all his heart.

“Done,” Michael said needlessly as he held the leaf carefully over the flame, keeping his scrawl facing away from the other man. “What did you wish for, Ash?”

The curly-haired man simply smiled at him as he let his own leaf catch alight.

“It's a secret,” Ashton said quietly, the fire reflecting in his dark eyes. “You'll have to wait and see.”

Michael grinned, accepting it easily enough. He didn't want to share his wish either. It was sappy and probably a little bit _too_ sweet, and he wasn't even sure Ashton would appreciate it.

“I like doing stuff like this,” the younger man offered suddenly, one arm tucked behind his head as he lay there on Michael's bed, looking almost like he belonged there. “It reminds me of when I used to help mum with spells. Makes me feel like she's still here, kind of… Like she's still alive.”

His voice trailed away sadly and Michael felt his eyes sting with unexpected tears.

“Oh, Ash,” he said helplessly, his eyelashes growing damp as he reached out to draw the younger man into a hug. Ashton accepted it readily enough, tucking his face away into the older man's neck as they lay together.

“It's okay, Mike,” Ashton said weakly before a note of curiosity entered his voice. “Random question but… do you believe in other universes? Like, other timelines or versions of reality or… I don’t know. Just parallel universes? Other versions of us?”

“You’ve been watching too much Fringe,” Michael teased but his eyes remained damp and a sadness swelled within him at Ashton’s uncomprehending expression.

“I’ve never seen Fringe.”

“Oh, Ash, _I_ don’t know,” Michael said heavily. “What are you getting at?”

“I just… I wondered if maybe there was a universe out there where my mum was still alive. Where my dad was still good and my mum was still here, and everyone still loved each other.”

The words seemed to have escaped Ashton unbidden and he clamped his lips tightly shut against the sob rising inside him. His eyes were haunted as Michael gazed at him silently, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Maybe there's a world where you and her got to meet,” Ashton continued after a moment, his voice weaker and more fragile now. _Delicate_ almost. “Maybe she could come up with something to make you stop hurting and - and we’d be _better_ and you wouldn’t be in pain and… and I wouldn’t be like _this_.”

Ashton’s voice was wretched and he didn't seem to realise he was crying until Michael held him closer, one hand soothingly rubbing the younger man's back through his familiar shirt.

“Please don’t cry, Ash,” Michael pleaded, frightened because he had never seen the younger man like this before. “I’m sorry if I made you sad. Just… _please_ …”

“It’s such a human thing, isn’t it?” Ashton said coldly, like it was something he wasn’t, even as the tears ran relentlessly down his face. “Apologising for someone else’s grief.”

“Ash, please, I’m _sorry_ -”

“I hate the word please,” Ashton said sharply but he still closed the distance between them, covering the older man's lips with his own and stealing the breath from Michael's lungs.

Ashton kissed him like he was never going to stop.

Michael hoped he never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought!  
> Thanks for reading :)


	18. no room for love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've somehow been inspired enough to write a second CWL update in one day? That's unheard of before now, wow. (Thank you, Laura.)  
> This one is angsty and mean, and Luke refused to follow my story plan so... yeah, that kind of happened.  
> Hopefully this is okay!

The oak tree was inside their house and a shadowy figure circled it.

Michael stared in appalled silence as the tree grew, the wooden panels covering the floor splintering around its trunk. The building creaked as the oak tree forced its way up to the second floor and, dimly, the red-haired man heard the distant dismayed cries of Calum and Luke.

Its branches filled his bedroom and tore at Michael’s skin, and he let out a cry of horror as a noose of ivy dropped down from the ceiling. It snagged around Michael’s neck and, as he started to choke for breath, the shadowy figure overwhelmed him, as suffocating as smoke flooding into his lungs… his veins… his whole _being_.

Michael tried to fight it away but there was nothing he could do when it was already inside him. His terror reached new heights at this realisation and, as he reached to claw clumsily at the ivy knotted around his throat, he discovered a knife clenched tightly in his hand.

The blade was rusting and old but it did the job and, as the ivy fluttered down onto the ground, cold purpose swam through Michael like ice.

There were green tendrils wrapping themselves lovingly around his ankles but Michael kicked them away brutally, uncaring. There was no room for love in him now. The shadowy figure filled him up to the brim and everything seemed darker with it festering in him, feeling nothing but anguish and rage.

Michael walked across the broken floorboards without a thought, hindered neither by the undergrowth forcing its way into the house or the lack of his cane. Michael’s body was painless and his cheeks were streaked with teardrops of blood from the cruel scratch of the branches.

A great section of wall was missing from the front of the house and, as Michael ascended the creaking stairs - as silent as a wraith - he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror Luke had hung up in the hallway. The moonlight made his blood-splattered face look like a demon and, as he looked down haltingly at the knife in his hand and realised what the shadowy figure had intended, he felt it dissipate, leaving a wretched hollowness in its place that couldn't quite hide the images of Luke and Calum bleeding to death because of… god, because of _him_.

Michael staggered backwards in shock, losing his footing and plunging down the last few steps with a dull thud as his body crashed onto the hallway floor. The knife clattered out of his hand and disappeared through one of the cracks in the floor as a vine wrapped around the handle, coaxing it down into the darkness.

A terrible sob rose and clawed its way out of his throat like an animal as the vines rose to wrap around him. Michael writhed away from them, thrashing in panic as one tightened around his chest, making his breath catch painfully as he struggled. Black spots danced in front of his tear-filled eyes and, as the terror he felt finally began to overwhelm him, something broke inside his head, jagged and torn.

Pain was lancing through him now, radiating from the small of his back and spreading down his bad leg like a disease. Michael was keening and, as he became aware of the great sobs ripping out of him, he became aware of other things too.

The darkness of the house was gone now, replaced by the dim hallway light as it flickered to life. The shadowy figure was gone and the moonlight could no longer shine into the house because the wall was intact once more. There were no vines preventing Michael from catching his breath; only startling pain and his own anxiety wrapping itself red-hot around his lungs.

Michael was not alone.

Luke was crouched down beside him, his blue eyes damp with tears and nothing less than horrified as he stroked Michael’s hair back gently from his sweaty forehead. Luke’s hands were shaking badly and his blond curls were rumpled from sleep. Over Luke’s broad shoulder, Michael saw Calum hurrying down the stairs too, his face paling rapidly.

“Oh my god,” the dark-haired man breathed, crumpling down beside them as his hand settled soothingly on Michael’s chest, reminding him to control his breathing before his panic attack truly overwhelmed him.

“Mikey, what _happened_?” Luke asked brokenly but Michael couldn’t look at the kindness on his best friends’ faces. He didn’t _deserve_ it after the nightmare that had just plagued him because… god, what if it came true? What if Michael _hurt_ them without realising it?

“Did you fall the whole way down?” Calum asked weakly, reaching for his mobile like he was going to call for an ambulance or something. Michael thought tearfully that maybe his oldest friend should have been calling the _police_ instead. “Do you need to go to the hospital, Mike?”

“Do you, Mikey?” Luke asked in a much softer voice, his soft hands still gently cradling the older man’s cheeks as he tried to get Michael to calm down. “Are you hurt badly?”

Michael tried to focus on the words through the fog of panic and, gazing up desperately into the blond man’s kind tear-wet blue eyes, Michael found the perspective he had been searching for that helped him to realise that, while he _was_ in terrible pain, it was no worse than he’d felt in those first months following the car accident.

He had jarred his back painfully by falling the last few steps down the stairs and his sciatica had flared up because of it. The agony might have been breathtaking in its awfulness but it was familiar and nothing for his friends to be worried about.

Michael drew in a ragged breath, holding the oxygen in for as long as he could in the hope that it would help his head stop spinning quite so sickeningly.

“I’m okay,” he croaked, unsure whether he was lying or not. His chest still felt tight and his words came out broken, like he had to wring each syllable out with immense effort. “It’s just… sciatica. Bad but… used to it. I’m okay.”

Neither Luke nor Calum seemed to believe him but Michael couldn’t let himself look at them anymore so there would be no beseeching expressions in the hopes of calming them down. Michael felt ill every time he remembered the knife, dripping blood onto the ruined wooden floor.

Michael’s palm trembled against the panels as he reached to feel one nearby. It was still intact, not slippery with blood or warped with vines. The unthinkable had not happened.

It had only been a nightmare.

“I want… to get up,” he gasped out, eyes still stubbornly shut. “Need… shower…”

“Mikey, I… I don’t think you’ll be able to stand when you’re like this,” Calum said softly, his tone deeply unhappy. He’d seen his oldest best friend like this before and Michael knew it must be hurting Calum to see it again now. “But… we can help you have a bath, yeah? Hot water always helps you when your muscles are bad… and maybe it’ll calm you down so you can get some more sleep before we have to go to work tomorrow, yeah? Sounds like a plan?”

Michael let out a broken whimper at that and Luke’s face creased with pain as he helped the red-haired man slowly up into a sitting position, keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Michael’s waist.

“Don’t worry,” Luke murmured as Calum joined them too, both of them counting to three before lifting Michael slowly between them. “I’ll call the shop tomorrow morning to let them know you won’t be in.”

“Thank you,” Michael breathed but he barely knew what he was expressing gratitude for now. The fog of exhaustion and shame was flooding through him again, and he hung heavily between his two friends, trusting them completely as they slowly helped him climb the stairs.

“Almost there, Mikey bear,” Calum murmured, his voice thick even despite the tone of forced joviality he had adopted. He was trying to smile like his bottom lip _wasn’t_ wobbling dangerously under the threat of tears but it was no good. They broke free and Calum turned his face away almost frantically, stubbornly looking in the opposite direction as his composure crumpled. His body shook violently with the strength of the sobs he was trying to keep at bay but no one commented; not even Luke although a tear slipped wordlessly down the blond man’s cheek.

It seemed to take an age to reach the top of the stairs but, when they finally made it, Luke did his best to take back control of the situation.

“Right, Mikey, let’s get you sorted,” the blond man said gently. “Cal, you get him sat on the toilet or something so he doesn’t have to keep standing up, okay?” Luke marched to turn on the taps without checking to see if Calum would follow his instructions but he seemed to trust that things would go the way he wanted and Luke wasn’t disappointed.

Once the water was just on the right side of too hot, he turned the taps off and turned to look at his two friends. Michael was sitting slumped where he had been left, his muscles spasming with pain as he gritted his teeth against the twisting burn of it. He felt like his knee was being stabbed repeatedly and the idea of putting any weight on his leg at all terrified him.

“Are you going to be okay in there on your own, Mike?” Luke asked gently and, when Michael looked up at him with frightened eyes, the blond man took that as all the answer he needed. “Right, okay, guess we’re sharing then. Don’t want you drowning on my watch.”

Luke glanced down at the boxers and t-shirt he had been wearing to sleep in before he shrugged, climbing into the steaming water with his pyjamas still on. His pale skin seemed to shine bone-white in the harsh light of the bathroom and, as Calum helped Michael painfully into the bath, the red-haired man gazed up at the damp patch stretching across the ceiling.

The leak was worse than it had ever been now.

“There you go,” Calum whispered, his voice still choked with tears as he helped Michael settle down painfully against the blond man’s chest. Luke’s arms came to wind around his friend’s midriff automatically and Michael let out a small broken whimper as the enormity of the situation slowly began to sink in.

He could feel the throbbing of his knee lessening a little as the bite of the hot water distracted him from his sciatica. Instead, he slowly became aware of how many bruises there were slowly blooming all over his skin from his fall down the stairs.

“We’ll get you a hot water bottle and maybe your electric blanket after this, Mikey, yeah?” Luke suggested softly. “I know heat always works better for you when you feel like this.”

“He can bunk with us tonight too, yeah?” Calum croaked, drying his eyes subtly with his sleeve as he watched the pair of them unhappily. “No point in him having to struggle with the stairs again.”

“Good plan,” Luke said, giving Calum a warm smile although the frown on his forehead didn’t lessen. “Can you go get Mikey his painkillers and some water please too, Cal? He’ll need them before he tries getting out of this bath and -”

“I know, Luke,” Calum said quietly, his words gentle but brooking no room for argument. Finally, he seemed to have regained his usual calm composure that often made itself apparent during emergencies. “I’ve looked after Mike just as long as you have.”

Luke fell silent abruptly and, shooting his boyfriend a fearful look, Calum began to leave the bathroom.

“Will you two be okay up here on your own for a few minutes?” the dark-haired man asked softly, hesitating there as Luke continued to support Michael in the hot water.

“I’ve got him, Cal,” the blond man said quietly, his words a little stiff. Calum nodded mutely.

“I thought I could make us some tea,” the dark-haired man said after a moment, looking a little lost there under the starkness of the bathroom light. “That might help us unwind a little.”

The tap dripped loudly in the quiet and Michael turned his face away into Luke’s neck as the shame welled inside him like acid.

“That sounds nice, Cal,” Luke said heavily, his words exhausted as he leant against the side of the bath, keeping Michael resting limply against him. When Calum continued to linger, Luke rolled his eyes but the unhappy set of his jaw did nothing to make the action look fond.

“I said I’ve got him, Cal,” Luke snapped, barely able to mask the bitterness in his voice. “He’s safe with me.”

Michael closed his eyes against the tears boiling over behind his lids. He hated it when Luke and Calum argued because of him. It made him wish the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

Michael just wanted this suffering to be over.

“I’m sorry,” the red-haired man breathed when the bathroom door clicked gently closed behind Calum. Luke made a small noise of surprise, one damp hand returning to stroke Michael’s hair gently.

“For what?” Luke honestly sounded like he couldn’t imagine why Michael was apologising and it struck the older man just how lucky he was to have a friend like him.

“For making you and Cal…” Michael’s voice trailed away for a moment as he struggled to find the right word. “... _unhappy_ ,” he settled for at last, the word far too weak to sum up the weight of the guilt Michael was buckling under.

“Try not to think like that,” Luke said quietly but he sounded a lot older suddenly, like the events of the night had aged him. “Cal and I… we have some things we need to work through, Mike. It’s nothing you need to worry about. You haven’t caused this… whatever _this_ is.”

Luke sounded so bitter that they fell silent for a moment, just breathing as the steam dissipated like the shadowy figure had done in Michael’s nightmare. The red-haired man shuddered and Luke only held him closer.

“That night outside Santon Bridge Inn,” Michael said suddenly, his voice breaking from the grief he could still feel even now. “You were angry with him then, weren’t you? And _that_ was because of me.”

Luke was so quiet that Michael wished he’d never spoken.

“That… that wasn’t your fault, Mike,” the blond man said at last, his voice small and sad. “Look, I… I love Cal but… sometimes it isn’t as effortless as it should be.”

Michael stayed quiet, sensing that this was something Luke obviously needed to get off his chest.

“That night just showed me that… maybe Calum and I have different priorities,” the blond man said uneasily, one hand smoothing up and down Michael’s arm automatically as it always did when Luke felt inner turmoil. “I didn’t think that Cal and I dating would… would fucking _ruin_ the dynamic the three of us had like this. I thought we were going to be best friends forever - the three of us against the world - but it doesn’t feel like that anymore. I love him. I _love_ him. I just… hope it’s enough.”

Michael didn’t know what to say.

He could hear the low buzz of the light bulb overhead now; the gentle lapping of the water and the steady beat of Luke’s heart where his ear was resting on the blond man’s chest.

“I love Calum,” Luke said again, like he was trying to force the words to make everything okay again. “And I love you too, Michael,” Luke added in a softer voice, pressing a chaste kiss to the red-haired man’s head. “You two are the only people I have left in the world.”

“Calum loves us too,” Michael said when the sticky guilt he could feel became too much. “He loves us the only way he knows how. It might not be healthy sometimes but it’s all he knows. He’s trying his hardest to fix things.”

“He needs to try harder then,” the blond man said flatly but his hands were shaking again. “Because it isn’t working.”

Luke set his jaw as he stared up at the dampness on the ceiling. He didn’t make a sound but Michael knew he was crying. He reached for the younger man’s hands gently, squeezing them comfortingly between his own as Luke tucked his tear-wet face into Michael’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” the blond man breathed. “I shouldn’t lay all our crap on you. That’s not right.”

“It’s okay,” Michael said dully, his green eyes glassy as he lay there, taking in the watermark spreading above their heads… remembering the wonder of Ashton’s kiss filling his ribcage with flame.

That felt about a million years ago now, despite it only having been a few days.

“What were you even doing climbing the stairs like that in the dark tonight, Mike?” Luke asked quite suddenly, his voice soft despite how jarring the older man found the unexpected words. “You don’t usually get up at night like that and…” Luke hesitated, biting his lip worriedly as he smoothed his hand comfortingly down his friend’s arm again. “You didn’t even look awake when we found you.”

Michael remained lying slumped against Luke’s chest, his damp clothes billowing out in the cooling bathwater, his eyes sticky and swollen with tears. He swallowed down the lump rising in his throat so that he could breathe again.

“I don’t know,” Michael whispered, his voice hoarse and scratchy from crying for so long. His heart rate sped up as he remembered the fear he had felt… the slickness of the knife in his grip. “I can’t remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Hopefully it wasn't terrible :')  
> I am aiming to make the next chapter a lot less angsty (if it follows the plan) and maybe even a tiny bit smutty?  
> You'll have to wait and see... :)


	19. just a little too late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back with the next chapter!  
> Also, I tried to write smut for this chapter (spoilers) but it didn't want to happen.  
> Also, the story ignored the plan even though I rewrote bits of it loads of times.  
> Also, I'm really tired so this is probably horrendous. (Sorry if it is.)
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of past suicide attempt, overdose, suicidal thoughts.

As the days skulked by, Michael’s exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. It had settled in his _bones_ now and nothing would shake it free; not his spell jars or his candles or his tarot card spreads. Only Ashton could even come close to making Michael feel the way he used to back in London before he had sustained the injury that was ruining his life.

The clock on his bedside table was ticking towards midnight but he couldn’t sleep, even despite knowing he finally had to return to work the next morning. Luke and Calum were watching a film in the other room, presumably just as stilted and uncomfortable as they had seemed before Michael stormed out to escape the pair of them. The illuminated red of the numbers hurt Michael’s eyes as he silently counted how many minutes of sleep he would have if he fell asleep before twelve o’clock.

Michael let out a frustrated sigh and kicked the duvet away recklessly, holding his breath in anticipation of pain although his knee did little more than twinge dully. He’d already taken two painkillers about half an hour ago but they weren’t doing anything to make him feel tired now – they never did anymore; he felt like he barely _slept_ – and there was an itchiness under his skin that was impossible to scratch.

Michael’s realisation hit him like a sledgehammer and he immediately felt stupid for it. He was addicted again. Of _course_ he was.

His irritability… his mood swings and deliberate isolation… his worsened depression and anxiety… even the confusion he felt sometimes at relatively simple instructions he was given at work. He was clumsier than ever now as his coordination worsened – how else had he managed to fall down the stairs so easily? – and the light-headedness and chest pains he sometimes experienced could easily be caused by an irregular heartbeat.

Michael lay on his bed in appalled silence for a moment, staring up at the ceiling blankly. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen again, after everything he’d put his loved ones through last time. He’d done this to _himself_.

A lump rose in his throat as he reached out for the large dark brown pill bottle, shaking it and fighting down his dread as he realised just how few tablets remained. He wondered why this revelation had taken him so by surprise.

He wasn’t _stupid_ , even if he did feel like he was sometimes. Michael had known the risks of using painkillers after the pain for which they had been prescribed had subsided. He should have stopped taking them after his final check-up at the hospital, when they’d declared him fit enough to get by with nothing more than physical therapy and over-the-counter medication.

Maybe buried somewhere deep down in Michael’s brain, a little part of him had been hoping that the prescription painkillers would cure him of sciatica. Maybe he’d been hoping that one day he’d wake up pain-free and never have to feel that fiery burn stretching down his sciatic nerve ever again… but the reality should have been no shock to him.

His sciatica was chronic and Michael _knew_ that. He’d _always_ known that. He’d just wilfully ignored it in a childish attempt to hide from himself.

He needed to call his counsellor again.

No, scratch that. Maybe he needed to go _home_ instead.

The house creaked around him as it settled for the night, almost like it agreed with him. The eerie scratching sound of the oak tree’s branches scraping across the glass sounded and Michael squeezed his emerald eyes tightly shut, hating the tears he could feel there. His fingers twisted in his duvet cover as he fought down a sob.

He didn’t want things to get the way they had done before. He’d overdosed by mistake, the first time. His heart had fluttered painfully in his chest and his head had swam sickeningly, and then he’d had a seizure and woken up in the hospital days later, only to discharge himself and attempt to take his own life after the absolute shame he felt.

That had been the darkest period of Michael’s life without a doubt and he was more frightened than he could put into words that he might be heading down that path again.

The wind howled as the rain pounded against the window but it made his sobs sound quiet by comparison so Michael found he didn’t really mind. He raked his fingers through his blood-red hair, struggling to get himself back under control. He didn’t want to lose it now and spend the night in tears. He felt bad enough as it was and, if he was expecting himself to be able to walk to and from work tomorrow – _and_ somehow manage to be civil to customers – Michael needed to keep calm so that he could fall asleep.

He tried to calm his breathing but the tree branch was still clawing at the glass and the jarring sound was making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Michael shivered, drawing the duvet up to his chin. The discomfort and wariness he could feel mirrored his first night spent in this house and, as though remembering was enough to bring the sensation back, Michael abruptly felt as though he was being watched.

A shadow flickered through the curtains and Michael froze in terror as he remembered his nightmare; as he recalled the _horrific_ feeling of being filled from the inside out by an invisible force hell-bent on hurting those he cared about. It had twisted him into a demon; into a terrible creature prepared to destroy everything he loved in the blink of an eye.

It was outside his window _right now_ , prepared to strike. It was –

“Ashton?” Michael asked blankly, sitting bolt upright when he caught a glimpse of the younger man’s face through a crack in the curtains. “What are you _doing_ here?”

He flicked the lamp on and stumbled across his bedroom in the dim light, wrenching the curtains back. Ashton was standing on the other side, rain running down his face like tears as he sheltered under the sparse foliage of the oak tree. His palm was resting flat against the glass and his eyes were dark in the moonlight as he gazed back at Michael.

The red-haired man swallowed, feeling a fluttering of something that might have been fear as he threw caution to the wind, reaching to unlock the window. It creaked open sickeningly loudly but Michael barely noticed as Ashton crawled inside, his flannel shirt tied casually around his waist, his curls a flyaway mess from the damp weather outside. His skin smelt like rain when he drew Michael into a hug, tucking his cold nose away into the warmth of the older man’s neck. Michael knew his own face was pale with shock.

“Ashy?” he murmured, his fingers carding lightly through the damp curls. “Are you okay? You never come round this late.”

“I’m fine,” Ashton said but there was a tightness to the set of his mouth that hinted at a lie when he drew away. “I just… didn’t want to be alone with dad. Not on a night like tonight.”

“You’re not okay at all, are you?” Michael whispered, one hand cupping the younger man’s cheek gently. Ashton looked away, hazel eyes flashing as he distractedly nudged his shoes off. Apparently he was planning on staying for a while but Michael found he didn’t mind very much. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Your dad…”

The red-haired man’s voice faded away as his eyes finally adjusted properly to the light and Ashton flinched, like he’d realised his mistake just a little too late.

The younger man’s arms were covered in bruises, deep purples and blacks, and Michael felt sick as he caught Ashton's gaze. He’d never noticed them before but that didn’t surprise him; he didn’t think he’d ever seen the younger man without his flannel shirt on before.

Quite abruptly, Michael realised he couldn’t see Ashton at all but that was because of the tears boiling up in his eyes. The younger man looked ashamed of himself and Michael couldn’t help it when he drew Ashton carefully into his arms, keeping every movement gentle as he pressed a soft kiss to the curly-haired man’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Michael whispered but Ashton didn’t say anything at all.

The older man sighed softly, tangling their fingers carefully as he went to sit down on his bed. Ashton hovered in front of him for a moment, standing so close that Michael had to crane his head up to look at him in the shadowy room. Ashton’s eyes were darker than ever now, his eyelashes spiky with tears as he reached to stroke Michael’s hair back from his forehead slowly.

“How can I help you?” Michael asked and Ashton’s dimpled face creased into a watery smile.

“I just want to forget,” he whispered and it was the closest to a plea that Michael had ever heard him utter.

“Then let’s forget.”

The rest of Michael’s words were stolen when Ashton pushed him gently back down onto the bed, both of them giggling breathlessly into each other’s mouths as they struggled to find the pillows so that they could lie down comfortably. The kiss remained light and sweet for a moment, their hands fumbling as their noses brushed together. Ashton’s long-fingered hands tangled in Michael’s hair and he nipped lightly at the older man’s bottom lip, his tongue flicking out afterwards to soothe the sting.

Michael’s soft huff of laughter became a moan as Ashton straddled him and the younger man deepened the kiss, his intentions clear now as Michael associated Ashton with heat and _not_ cold for the first time since meeting him.

“Ash -” Michael gasped out but he broke off when Ashton rolled his hips down pointedly, two spots of colour appearing faintly in his cheeks as he ducked his head to kiss Michael’s neck. He was trembling and the older man reached to stroke his back soothingly through his Metallica t-shirt. Ashton’s glasses sat crookedly on his face.

“Can we?” the younger man asked desperately and Michael groaned when he felt the faintest trace of teeth on his skin.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Ashton closed the gap between them with something bordering on hunger, kissing Michael so desperately that the older man swore he caught the faintest taste of blood as the younger man licked into his mouth. When Michael arched up against him with a moan, Ashton let out a soft whimper and Michael realised that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt out of his depth here.

Ashton was only nineteen and, if Michael was judging him by his own standards, he hadn’t exactly been well-versed in sex at that age. Even thinking about it had made him stammer and trip over his own feet.

Now that he knew to look for that uncertainty, he could see it in every move Ashton made and something softened in Michael’s chest. It didn’t matter to him that Ashton had asked for this and seemed content to rush it. He wanted it to be special for him, so that he could look back on it when he was older and know that he didn’t regret it.

“You’re so beautiful, Ashy,” Michael murmured as he stroked up Ashton’s arms gently, being mindful of the bruises. His fingers tangled lightly in the honey coloured-curls, keeping the younger man close to him as he sucked on Ashton’s bottom lip to make him whine. Michael kissed him hotter, desperate for the sounds Ashton was making.

God, it had been so long since Michael had kissed someone and that had been _Luke_ , years ago now after a drunken party that Calum hadn’t wanted to go to. Michael shook the memories away like rainwater, burying his guilt in Ashton’s skin.

The younger man’s pupils were blown now, his hazel eyes scrunched shut as his hips rocked against Michael’s, the friction close to unbearable. When Michael gently gripped the younger man’s hips to calm his frantic movements, Ashton threw his head back with a groan. The dim light cast pretty shadows across his features but something tightened in Michael’s chest when he saw the hint of a bruise on Ashton’s neck, the muscles bunched tight under the skin like they were hurting him.

“Ash,” Michael croaked but - before he could speak further - the sound of approaching footsteps resonated in the hallway outside. Ashton panicked, rolling off of the older man and slipping fluidly beneath the duvet. His hair tickled Michael’s stomach as his hands settled coolly on the older man’s thighs and Michael’s breath escaped him in a whimper as Calum opened the door to peer in.

“You okay in here, Mikey bear?” the dark-haired man asked softly. “Luke and I thought we heard something but -”

“I’m fine,” Michael said but his voice cracked and his cheeks flushed scarlet. Ashton shifted a little beneath the duvet and Michael groaned softly before he covered his face with embarrassment. Abruptly, a mischievous grin spread across Calum’s face and he let out a cackle.

“We heard you jerking off!” he realised with a gasp, doubling over and clutching at his sides like it was the funniest thing he could imagine. “Oh _shit_ , Mikey, that’s so fucking funny! We thought you were hurt again or something. Luke was worried we’d have to call an _ambulance_!”

Calum was actually wiping tears from his eyes now and Michael briefly considered throwing a pillow at his friend before worrying that that might dislodge Ashton where he was still hiding under the duvet. Desperately, he prayed that Calum wouldn’t look down and notice the peeling trainers lying on the rug.

“I _wasn’t_ jerking off!” Michael insisted defensively but Calum was already turning away, covering his eyes up in a ridiculous pantomime fashion and snickering profusely.

“I didn’t see anything, Mikey, I promise,” Calum teased.

“But… there was nothing to see!” Michael said imploringly but it was no good. Calum had already shut the door again and ran away giggling.

‘ _Well_ ’, Michael thought wryly. ‘ _At least he’s happy._ ’

Ashton pushed the duvet back slowly but he didn’t move from where he had settled down between Michael’s legs. A strange look had come into his hazel eyes that had the amusement on Michael’s face quickly turning to lust. Ashton ran his fingertip hesitantly over where Michael was leaking in his boxers, clearly dwelling on the older man’s words when he softly asked: “Would you _like_ there to be something to see?”

Michael whimpered, nodding desperately.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispered and, for once, the younger man didn’t reprimand Michael for using the word he hated most. He just eased Michael’s boxers down instead, fingers wrapped firmly around the older man as he leant forwards to taste him.

Ashton stayed buried between the red-haired man’s trembling thighs for what seemed like hours, coaxing out whimpers and broken moans until Michael forgot how to talk… forgot his pain… forgot his own _name_.

Until he forgot anything but Ashton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Hopefully this isn't awful.  
> I dropped a few hints of Ashton's past into this chapter too... I wonder if anyone noticed them?
> 
> Also, I have **BIG NEWS** with regards to this story.  
>  I've decided to write some oneshots based in the CWL Universe and I'm so excited! I'm hoping to use it as an opportunity to give you all some more background on Michael's childhood, Calum and Luke's relationship, and maybe even Ashton's past too (I'm especially excited for this one).  
> So basically what I'm asking is, if anyone has any requests, please let me know! I can't promise I'll get round to writing them but I'll definitely try :)


	20. chase away the shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where my story absolutely refused to listen to 90% of my plan so, at this point, it's pretty much surprising me as well as (hopefully) you guys. I hope you'll enjoy this!  
> The second-hand embarrassment I felt writing this chapter was enormous. My poor characters :(

The first thing Michael became aware of the next morning was the creak as his bedroom door swung open. A figure stood illuminated in the brightness of the hallway outside and the red-haired man’s heart pounded frantically in his chest as he sat bolt upright. He was panting as he struggled to get his breath back, his chest heaving from how much his nightmare had frightened him.

Michael couldn’t even remember what had happened now. He just had a vague sense of unease; remembered creaking rope and broken flashes of a forest blurring around him like he was running through it. Michael had seen footsteps in dust and a pool of blood spreading beneath his feet but nothing more concrete than that. Nothing that made any _sense_.

“Mike?” the figure asked softly and, as Michael’s eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he saw that it was Luke. The younger man looked tired and stressed in the hallway, bundled up in slippers and a navy blue dressing gown as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself. “I thought I heard you in here. Did you have a bad dream?” Luke asked sympathetically.

Michael gave a morose nod, slumping back down onto his pillows with an unhappy sigh. It felt like his night with Ashton had been a hundred years ago now but the memory of it resurfaced slowly in his rumpled sheets and the love bite sucked into his hip beneath the faded pyjama trousers he was wearing.

“I swear you never used to have this many nightmares back in London,” Luke said sadly, hesitating for a moment before venturing into the darkness of the older man’s messy bedroom. “You feel okay though?”

Michael considered this for a moment before shaking his head, his pale face unhappy as he dwelled on the anxiety brought on by the dream. The house always felt unsafe in the darkness and Michael let out a relieved sigh when Luke opened the curtains, allowing the early morning light to flood in and chase away the shadows.

Michael was still worried and his anxiety must have shown on his face because Luke went to him wordlessly, settling down under the duvet behind his best friend and wrapping an arm around the older man’s soft stomach. Michael relaxed without meaning to, one hand coming to cover Luke’s as the pair of them lay there while the world slowly woke up outside.

He missed morning cuddles with Luke. Ever since the blond man had started falling for Calum, they had fallen by the wayside and Michael hadn’t realised how special these times were for him until they were gone. He felt as though he missed Luke even when they were lying next to each other.

“I can practically _hear_ you thinking,” the blond man murmured, his forehead resting on Michael’s shoulder as their legs tangled together lazily under the blankets. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Not on your life,” Michael murmured, smiling weakly.

He didn’t know how to put into words the conflicting emotions he was wading through. He was thinking about last night with Ashton; about the younger man’s soft curls and haunted eyes, and the evening they’d cast a spell together and shared their first kiss… but he was _also_ thinking about the party when he’d kissed Luke; about two clumsy sixteen year olds drunkenly making out in someone else’s garden for what felt like _hours_ as their hands slipped beneath clothes, touching and tasting. The pair of them had ended up in the flower bed and Michael remembered it like it was happening right then for a moment; remembered the taste of cider on Luke’s tongue and the way his kind face was framed with flowers in the darkness.

Confusion welled up inside him and Michael sank into the bitterness without resistance. He was twenty two years old as of November and that night in the flower bed felt a very long time ago. He didn’t know what to do.

He knew Luke loved Calum now and Michael loved _both_ of his best friends… but he thought he might be starting to love Ashton too. A heavy sigh left him as he considered his options and not even Luke pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder did anything to make the ache lessen.

God, Michael had made such a mess of things.

“You shouldn’t be beating yourself up for having a nightmare,” Luke said softly from behind him, getting completely the wrong end of the stick but being so sweet about it that Michael only felt _more_ guilty. “I had a bad dream last night too. It just happens sometimes, Mikey. It’s normal.”

“You had a nightmare as well?” Michael asked curiously, craning his head to take in Luke’s unhappy expression. Now the stress he had donned like a cloak this morning made sense. “You want to talk about it?”

Luke just shrugged wearily, his broad shoulders seeming oddly protective as his head came to rest on Michael’s shoulder again.

“It was just…” The blond man’s voice trailed away for a moment and he sighed, long and low. “I dreamt about this lady,” he said softly. “She was really pretty – like, _strikingly_ – but her eyes were the saddest I’ve ever seen. Even sadder than _yours_ , Mikey.” Luke pressed another kiss to his shoulder and, out of nowhere, Michael realised a lump had risen in his throat which he forced himself to fight back down.

“What was the lady doing?” he asked roughly to distract them both from his reaction to Luke’s words.

The blond man bit his lip, looking more unhappy now.

“Crying,” the younger man replied quietly. “Just crying. She was walking around our house and sobbing. It sounded so real though, Mike. Like if I’d opened our bedroom door, she would’ve been right outside.”

Luke exhaled shakily when Michael rolled over painfully to meet his gaze, green peering into blue. Luke drew his wrist over his eyes and Michael was surprised to see tears streaking the younger man’s face.

“I heard footsteps too,” Luke said suddenly, his voice a lot softer now. “And I think that’s when I realised I wasn’t sleeping anymore.”

A dull shock of horror seared through Michael but Luke seemed not to notice it.

“I could still hear the crying so I… I jumped out of bed and ran to open the door and… and the crying stopped. The footsteps stopped. All I could hear was…”

Luke fell suddenly quiet, shaking his head wordlessly. The hairs on the back of Michael’s neck rose as though the pair of them were being watched.

“What did you hear, Lukey?” he whispered. The blond man worried at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Rope creaking,” Luke breathed, his eyes wetter now, as though he was about to cry. Cold fear flooded through Michael, consuming him. “I think she _hanged_ herself, Mikey… but… but why would I dream that? Why the _fuck_ would I dream that?”

Luke was gazing at him beseechingly, intense blue eyes shining with tears as he gripped his friend’s shoulders.

Dimly, Michael became aware that Luke was trembling violently. He knew the blond man rarely swore either – only when he was very, _very_ upset – and Michael would have done anything in that moment to distract him.

Anything at all.

Without thinking, Michael leant forwards and kissed him.

Luke gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in the older man’s soft red hair for a moment as he kissed him back. A tightness that Michael had never noticed before eased in his chest, running over his heart like warm water, and – as he sighed into the blond man’s mouth – Luke finally came to his senses.

“No,” he whispered, pushing Michael back gently although his palm lingered on the red-haired man’s shoulder. “ _No_ , Mike. We can’t. You _know_ we can’t.”

Michael’s face crumpled as he rolled away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Luke remained lying behind him, lips a little swollen, hair rumpled as he stared up at the ceiling in silence. Michael felt something wither in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. ‘ _Sorry for making you uncomfortable. Not sorry I kissed you._ ’

Luke reached out wordlessly to take Michael’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Neither of them spoke for a while, simply existing in the same space as they avoided each other’s gaze. As though from very far away, the sound of Calum unlocking the front door and toeing off his running trainers sounded.

Luke’s hand slipped from Michael’s and disappeared back under the duvet. Michael gritted his teeth, wishing he had enough painkillers to drown his guilt out. The room was brighter now as the sun cleared the top of the trees but it seemed to dim when Calum appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes instantly zeroing in on Luke lying beneath the covers and what could almost be described as grief colouring Michael’s face.

“You two okay?” Calum asked weakly, still breathless from his run. Neither Michael nor Luke seemed able to look Calum in the face but the red-haired man saw his oldest best friend wilting out of the corner of his eye and knew they needed to pull themselves together.

“We’re alright,” Michael said, unsure if he was lying or not. “We both had nightmares last night so we were having a support group for it.” He tried to smile and Calum’s lips twitched faintly in answer. Abruptly, Michael’s guilt overwhelmed him. “We were just having a chat really.”

Michael searched desperately for a change of conversation and settled on the mottled skin of Calum’s arms and legs where he was shivering, even despite the sweat.

“Should you really go out running when it’s this cold?” Michael asked, aiming for disapproving but probably just sounding desperate instead. “It’s not good to go out if it’s freezing. Also you could slip over or something and I don’t think you’d want me taking your precious car out in a bid to search for you, do you?”

“Nah, maybe not,” Calum grinned. “Do you two want a coffee or anything before work this morning? I thought I could do us some breakfast before I shower. Peace offering, y’know? I know things have been a bit strained the last few weeks.”

“That sounds really nice, Cal –” Michael began but Luke cut over him.

“It’s fine. I can make my own coffee.” The blond man finally sat up, easing himself past Michael awkwardly beneath Calum’s gaze. “I’m going to put the washing in the tumble dryer.”

Calum watched Luke leave, crestfallen. His dark curls were getting longer now, almost tumbling into his eyes as he stood there with his shoulders slumped. Michael went to him hesitantly, leaning on his cane and ruffling the shaggy hair with a weak smile on his face that didn’t touch his eyes.

“You can still make me a coffee if you’re offering,” the older man joked weakly. “Although if you’re fixing breakfast first, I’m going to have a shower before you.”

“Even after my run?!” Calum complained but his eyes twinkled faintly all the same, even despite the anger and hurt lingering on his tanned face. “Fine. But I’ll leave Luke alone for now. Seems like he needs some space.” Calum glanced again at Michael with a faint frown creasing his brow before he seemed to shake his worries away. “I’ll go get my work clothes sorted while I wait for you, I guess. Think I’m going to need an undershirt today. It’s bloody _freezing_ out there.”

Calum followed as Michael limped slowly up the stairs, his heart racing too fast as he caught Luke’s gaze for a moment where the blond man was unloading the washing machine. Calum’s hand settled on the small of the older man’s back when he hesitated and Michael thought he was going to cry for a moment as he continued up the stairs.

“Try not to freeze to death today, Cal, yeah?” Michael suggested to cover the awkward silence. “It really is cold today.” The world was covered in frost out of the bathroom window and Michael shivered just looking at it.

“I’m sure the excitement of my job will keep me toasty warm,” Calum said scathingly from his and Luke’s bedroom. The dark-haired man was somehow managing not to freeze in just a vest and shorts as he laid out some thermals to wear under his ranger uniform. Michael bit his bottom lip, watching his oldest friend worriedly as he leant on his cane.

“Are you not liking the job any better now?” he asked, remembering that day when he’d found Calum drinking himself to distraction in the kitchen because he hated his job so much… because he’d never hated anything _more_.

Michael wondered if Calum would hate _him_ more if he found out he’d kissed Luke.

“It’s just… a job.” Calum seemed upset as the truth of that sank in. “It isn’t amazing like I imagined growing up. It’s like when I worked in the supermarket round the corner from you, Mike. It’s like work experience or… or _school_. It just _is_ and wishing that would change isn’t going to make it any better. I’ve accepted it.”

Michael’s heart ached in his chest as he looked at his friend, taking in Calum’s slumped shoulders and the downhearted look on his face as they heard Luke stamping around below them.

“I didn’t think living here was going to be like this,” Calum said softly. “I thought we’d all be _happy_.”

“I don’t think anyone ever is,” Michael said, leaning against the doorframe for a moment as the words sank in. “Not in the end. Not if they really thought about it.”

“How cheery,” Calum muttered, sighing as he shook his head and disappeared to get something out of the wardrobe. Michael just shut the bathroom door quietly behind him, trying to lose himself in the burn of the hot water and the steam fogging up all the mirrors but, even when he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, all he could picture was Luke’s face and Ashton’s mouth on his skin.

Michael sagged against the cold tiles of the shower, his arms wrapping tightly around himself. He wondered what his mother would say if she could see what a mess of things he’d made. He wondered if his grandpa was ashamed of him, looking down at his only grandson now, addicted to painkillers and apparently doing his level best to ruin the relationship of his two best friends.

Michael looked down at himself, taking in the bruises fading to yellow from where he had fallen down the stairs. He took in how his left leg was bent a little to avoid putting all of his weight on it and something like self-loathing curled through him. Michael wished he was small enough to disappear down the plug with the water.

He wished none of this had ever happened to him.

A heaviness settled over him as he shut the water off and stepped unwillingly onto the cold floor of the bathroom, and it reminded Michael dimly of the nightmare when the shadowy figure had forced its way inside him, suffocating like smoke. As soon as the thought occurred to him, he regretted it because it stirred up memories of his conversation with Luke that morning; reminded him of creaking rope and ominous forests, and the metallic stench of spilt blood.

Michael felt distinctly jumpy as he unwillingly covered his face to towel his hair dry and he was just painfully pulling his pyjamas back on so that he could go downstairs to get dressed when a startled yell broke the quiet. There was silence for just long enough that Michael began to think he had imagined it before he heard a cry again, closer this time, muffled only by the old wooden door of the bathroom.

Flinging his wet towel in the vague direction of the radiator, Michael slipped across the damp floor to grab his cane and wrench the door open. Calum was hurtling out of the bedroom with a look of horror on his face, reaching for Michael desperately before he tripped over the rug stretched across the landing floor and smacked down onto his stomach, winding himself.

“Shit, Cal, are you okay?!” Michael asked urgently, his voice rather higher than he would have liked as he bent awkwardly with his cane to help the dark-haired man up. “What happened? What did you see?”

Calum was staring at him in helpless terror as he staggered to his feet, his finger shaking as he turned to point back in the direction he had just fled from.

“There’s a…” He shuddered, giving Michael’s shoulders a little shake. “There’s a huge _spider_ in there!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” A relieved snort of laughter escaped Michael even despite the dryness of his tone but he couldn’t quite get his heart to stop pounding. “I thought there was something really wrong, you dick!”

“Uh… _excuse_ me?” Calum asked, regaining some of his sass now even as he shot a fearful look towards the harmless arachnid. “There is a giant fucking spider in my bedroom and if you think for even a second that I’m going to let it live there, you have another thing coming, mate.”

“Maybe you should try and get rid of it on your own,” Michael suggested sweetly, his damp red hair sticking to his forehead like blood as he raised an eyebrow at Calum. “You’re meant to be a fearless ranger. You wouldn’t have made it past the first chapter in the Ranger’s Apprentice books with _this_ attitude.”

“You know I never read those dumb books,” Calum muttered, apparently sulking because Michael didn’t want to help him. The red-haired man gasped, giving his shoulder a light shove.

“You take that sacrilege back!” he demanded but Calum was smirking smugly now, arms folded across his broad chest.

“Maybe if you get rid of the spider for me,” he said and, with a long-suffering sigh, Michael went to let it out of the window into the freezing morning where it promptly disappeared into the ivy.

“ _Baby_ ,” Michael said, poking his tongue out when he saw Calum peering cautiously around the edge of the doorframe. “I can’t believe you screamed like that. I literally thought there was an axe murderer here to kill you. Maybe even a demon.” Michael grinned to show he was joking but Calum seemed to be considering that.

“Maybe it was a ghost,” the dark-haired man teased and, when Michael looked at him warily, Calum grinned. “What?” he asked defensively. “This is a creepy house!”

“Fair point,” Michael admitted although he was still watching Calum suspiciously, like he didn’t quite trust him. “But you better not yell like that again without good reason. I mean, you scared the crap out of me! Next time I’m hitting you with my cane.”

Calum snorted with laughter as he loped down the stairs easily beside Michael who rolled his eyes in high dudgeon. Calum looked like he was fighting giggles as they reached the hallway and Michael’s own amusement was just beginning to alleviate some of the guilt he could feel when something made his heart threaten to stop beating.

Luke was lying unconscious on the kitchen floor, one arm outstretched like he was reaching for something, his nose dripping blood down his bone-white face.

Both of them froze in horror for a moment before, as one, they rushed towards their friend. Luke woke up almost as soon as Calum gently shook him, his blue eyes instantly filling with tears as he jerked his head towards the kitchen doorway, reminding Michael of that morning when Luke had wrongly thought he was hiding there. The blond man jerked his head round so quickly his neck cracked and Calum looked like he was trying not to cry as he drew his boyfriend into his arms.

“Lukey?” Calum asked weakly, his sweet brown eyes damp. “What _happened_ to you?”

Luke’s blue eyes spun wildly for a moment and, for the first time, Michael worried that Luke had hit his head.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have moved him,” he worried in a low mumble, exchanging a frightened look with Calum as the wind howled like a beast outside the windows, fighting to get in.

Upon hearing Michael’s voice, Luke’s panicked eyes became sharper and more saturated with fear.

“Someone was here,” the blond man said fearfully, his voice dropping to a whisper as he looked around at the brightly lit kitchen, his words almost lost beneath the sound of the tumble dryer. “There was someone in the kitchen with me. I couldn’t see their face.”

“ _What_?!” Calum gasped, horrified. Michael shuddered, reaching out to take the blond man’s hand and feeling a tear slip down his cheek when Luke entwined their fingers tightly. “But who would break in like that?” Calum continued in a tight voice, his face ashen as he held the youngest man closer.

“I told you, I didn’t see them properly!” Luke snapped but his harshness was only because he was frightened. “One minute I was on my own and the next someone was taking a swing at me and – Look, I know how it sounds but I’m not lying! I _swear_ I’m not. It was just this dark figure, okay? Like… like a shadow. I have no idea who it was or how they got in. _None_.”

Luke broke off in tears, his panic tearing at him like an animal as Calum wrapped his arms tightly around the blond man, trying to hold him together.

Michael felt sick as Luke’s words sank in and he sat down heavily on the floor.

The attack sounded like one of his nightmares come to life and, as Luke wiped the blood from his nose and buried his face in the dark-haired man’s neck, Michael felt more frightened than he ever had.

None of them went to work and Calum called the police who conducted a thorough investigation over the next few days but it was no good.

Michael didn’t think it was possible to catch a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter!  
> I would love to hear your theories on what you think is going to happen next so please remember to leave a comment!  
> I'm so very excited to write the rest of this story now - not too long to go either!  
> We are about two thirds of the way through at least :)


	21. the only saving grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone!  
> This was meant to be a happier chapter (maybe the last happy chapter) but I screwed up and it's sad. Sorry!  
> But it was needed for the story.  
> Everything is finally falling into place.

The weeks passed slowly as winter dug her claws into the landscape outside.

The Lake District in early December was a sight to behold, the snow clinging to Scafell Pike and weighing down the boughs of the pine trees like the picture on a Christmas card. The house grew colder with every passing day, until not even the space heaters they had dragged in from the garage were enough to keep them warm anymore.

Michael spent his days bundled up in thick jumpers and wrapped in blankets, carrying a mug of tea close to his chest as his breath ghosted in the air in front of him. Luke and Calum weren’t much better, neither ever far from the other as they drifted from room to room, burning wood in the long-forgotten fireplaces and huddling up under thick quilts to keep warm.

Their household came to a standstill in this weather. It was impossible to get their car out of the garage and onto the thoroughfare with how heavily the snow had drifted against the house, and the only way Calum could even make it to work was by their neighbour John very kindly picking the dark-haired man up every morning in his Land Rover which he had intelligently equipped with snow chains for just such weather as this.

Even the trucks headed for Honister Slate Mine could barely make it along the slippery tarmac outside now. No one had expected the storm to hit so hard and, with every day that passed without a break in the snow, Michael slowly came to the realisation that they were trapped up here.

The only saving grace was that the red-haired man no longer felt like he was going crazy.

Ever since Luke had been ambushed by the shadowy figure in the kitchen, Michael had realised that he had been right all along. There _was_ something strange about their house. Maybe there always _had_ been.

If Luke agreed with him, he never said. The blond man rarely spoke anymore, his pale face set grimly instead as his exhausted blue eyes flickered warily to every shadowy corner in the house. They never mentioned the kiss they had shared but, whenever Calum went out for work, Luke went to Michael.

They sat together on the sofa, Luke huddled there in Michael’s arms as they watched old films on Calum’s precious flat screen TV. Luke’s breath shuddered out of him in tears sometimes but he never mentioned _that_ either.

There were a lot of things they weren’t allowed to talk about anymore: the guilt saturating Michael’s every moment or the want he sometimes saw burning in Luke’s eyes whenever their gazes met. These were just two more secrets left to steep in the bitter silence of the house.

Michael could feel it pressing on his chest sometimes, a steady pounding ache of loneliness and fear, and no spell jar he made even came close to banishing the crushing sensation of _wrongness_ that filled every room of their house like icy water.

The only time Michael felt soothed was with Ashton now and even _his_ visits had become more infrequent in the wake of the shadowy figure’s attack. Ashton looked paler these days, his curls flatter and his hazel eyes taking on a strangely hollow quality that made him look ill. The bruises on his grey skin were almost black now and Michael wished he could put a stop to the abuse but he couldn’t even make it down their front steps in this ice.

He’d never make it to Ashton’s home… if The House In The Forest _was_ Ashton’s home. Michael didn’t believe it but he also didn’t see what other options there were. How else would the younger man appear even when the weather was so horrendously bad? Why else would Ashton always be lingering nearby whenever Michael was of a mind to look for him?

A knowing expression was twisting Ashton’s face as he watched the red-haired man now, almost as though he knew what Michael was thinking. They were on the upstairs landing together, standing face to face a short distance apart in the otherwise-empty house.

Calum had persuaded Luke to come for a walk with him, probably hoping that the change of scenery might snap him out of the fearful lethargy he had sunk into. Ashton had arrived almost as soon as the door had shut behind them, illuminated in the weak sunlight of another late winter afternoon.

“So… remind me again why we’re going into the attic?” Ashton asked scathingly. “Because I swear you just complained about how freezing you are and I’m pretty sure it’s common knowledge that broken roof tiles _definitely_ don’t equate to a cozy afternoon make-out den.”

“Jeez, alright, Ash,” Michael muttered, rolling his eyes. “Don’t pull your punches, will you? I didn’t say it was going to be warm up there and I _definitely_ didn’t plan on us staying up there for too long. I just… I wanted to show you some stuff I found up here once. Old stuff. I think it’s from the people who lived here before.” When Ashton simply scoffed a little bit, looking weirdly _afraid_ , Michael just sighed softly. “You don’t _have_ to come up here. There’s no need to be so snarky.”

The younger man wilted a little, the fear in his hazel eyes becoming more pronounced for a moment before he fought it down, his gaze flickering around them wearily as the day raced towards its end outside.

“Sorry,” he muttered, clearly hating the word if the bitterness on his face was any indication. “Sometimes I guess I… I just try to hide my feelings by being like that…”

“What? A sarcastic, jumped-up, little arsehole?” Michael asked innocently and Ashton’s lips twitched into a smile that _almost_ warmed his eyes although his shoulders remained stiff with stress.

“Yeah,” Ashton replied honestly and the older man snorted, brushing his knuckles lightly over Ashton’s shoulder through the damp material of his shirt. He hadn’t been wearing a coat when he’d arrived today but his skin had been just as cool as normal. Michael didn’t understand how he wasn’t shivering.

“And how’s that shitty coping mechanism working out for you?” the older man asked, sticking his tongue out when Ashton elbowed him lightly in the stomach, apparently uncaring that he had a painful-looking bruise on his skinny arm.

“You talk too much,” the younger man said softly. “And you _don’t_ ask the right questions.”

Michael looked at him in surprise, snapping his mouth shut when he realised he must look stupid for gawking but desperately wishing he knew what the younger man meant.

“There’s something odd going on here, Ash,” Michael said at last, his green eyes flickering to the younger man’s peeling trainers and the bruising on his neck. “I just can’t put my finger on what.”

Ashton regarded him in silence for a few moments.

“Are you going to show me the old stuff you found in the attic or not, Mike?” he asked at last and the red-haired man shrugged, a little uneasy as he finally gave the younger man a hesitant nod.

“After you then,” Ashton said, his eyes inscrutable. Michael shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he turned away, climbing up into the darkness.

Ashton hadn’t been kidding about the attic. It was _freezing_ up there and Michael’s teeth started chattering almost at once, at least until Ashton sidled towards one of the boxes nearby and conveniently returned with a musty-smelling blanket. He wrapped it around Michael’s shoulders with a strange melancholy in his eyes and the red-haired man felt a jolt when he realised it was the same yellow blanket that had been wrapped around the baby in the Polaroid he’d found.

Ashton stroked the material gently with his thumb, his eyes glistening with something so tender that Michael found he had to look away for a moment.

“Is it always like this up here?” Ashton asked at last, his voice a little choked although Michael put it down to the dust. “So _sad_?”

“I think that’s just the house,” Michael said softly. “Bad things happened here. That’s what our neighbour said. I don’t think this is a good place anymore - maybe it never was.”

“Then you shouldn’t stay,” Ashton said, his voice little louder than the whisper of the wind outside. “You don’t belong here.”

But _Ashton_ looked like he belonged here.

He was kneeling fluidly by one of the chests Michael had already uncovered, picking through the contents so longingly that it stole the breath from Michael’s lungs. Ashton’s fingers trembled as he sorted through the drumsticks and the bandanas.

When the younger man came across the empty glove, a funny look came over his lovely face and a shudder ran through him as he slipped his baseball from the pocket of his jeans. Ashton nestled it carefully in the glove and he seemed to flicker for a moment in the half-light of the attic, and the sudden terror of losing him filled Michael’s lungs with panic.

He could feel the puzzle pieces falling into place but he blocked it out, refusing to accept the earth-shattering realisation that was twisting shapeless on the fringes of his consciousness.

‘ _Not now_ ,’ Michael thought desperately, even though his subconscious already knew the truth. ‘ _Not yet_.’

When Ashton uncovered an armchair in the corner from under a sheet with a fondly expectant look on his face, Michael felt it in his chest: the moment The House In The Forest bled away into nothing but ivy and dirt.

 _This_ was where Ashton belonged. Not in some twisted shadow of a place that no one but Michael could see.

“I like having you here with me,” the red-haired man said quietly, his voice thick with tears he refused to shed. “We should bring my grandad’s telescope up here one day. We could look at the stars together.”

Ashton looked across at Michael through the darkness, at their two sets of footprints in the dust, as the tears sparkled on his face like rainwater.

“We’ve lived under the same stars all our lives,” he said in lieu of answering. “We’ve already seen them.”

Michael looked down at his feet, his expression downcast. He wanted to beg but he wasn’t sure what he’d say and besides, he knew how much Ashton hated pleading.

“You know I have to leave, don’t you?” the younger man said quietly. “I should never have come here at all. First you got hurt, then Luke.” Quite suddenly, Ashton’s eyes became urgent and he looked much younger. “It’s my fault he’s so angry. I brought him here. I put you all at risk just because I wanted someone to finally - _finally_ \- see me again.”

“I see you, Ash,” Michael whispered, so frightened but unsure why. “I always have done.”

“I know,” Ashton whispered, his hands soft on Michael’s face although the older man couldn’t remember him crossing the space between them. He was simply there. “Thank you for seeing me, Michael. Thank you for taking the time to look.”

Michael closed his eyes when Ashton’s lips briefly touched his, his breath cold and smelling of the forest outside - of wind and rain, and things too old to count. His fingertips brushed Michael’s face like snowflakes.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Michael whispered but he knew it was no good when his only answer was another whisper of wind. His emerald eyes fluttered open and the sinking feeling in his chest tore into a gaping chasm.

Ashton was already gone.

Michael wasn’t sure how long he stood up there for, the faded baby’s blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders as the tremors ran through him. Judging by the stickiness on his cheeks, Michael thought he might be crying but he wasn’t sure if that was really the case.

He wasn’t sure of a lot of things.

There were footsteps and raised voices coming from somewhere far below him and, as he processed this, the pain in Michael’s knee returned with full force and he sat down heavily on the floor. His eyes had adjusted to the shadows now and a broken cry escaped him when he looked down at the wooden panels beneath him.

There was only one set of footprints in the dust. That was all there had ever been.

Michael stared around at the emptiness with tears rolling down his face, drowning in memories and the dreams of the dead. He felt like he was in a morgue and the silence was only broken when Calum’s face suddenly appeared through the hatch, tight with worry and righteous anger.

“Mikey, what the hell are you doing up here?!” the dark-haired man demanded, apparently choosing to disguise his panic with frustration. “It’s dangerous for you to be climbing up here with your sciatica! What if you’d got stuck up here? What if you’d _fallen_?”

“It’s okay,” Michael breathed, his eyelashes still sticky with tears as his dusty fingertips brushed his lips numbly where Ashton had kissed him. “I won’t come up here again.”

Calum looked a little calmer now, his chest still heaving from where he’d sprinted up the stairs but his dark eyes softer.

“Hey, are… are you okay, Mikey bear?” he asked in a gentler voice. “You seem upset.”

“I… I just don’t think I can live like this for much longer,” Michael croaked, drying his eyes with his sleeve. “Everything is _dead_ up here except us. This place isn’t beautiful anymore; it’s scaring me.”

Calum swallowed audibly, his eyes flickering around the shadowy space as he beckoned for Michael to follow him carefully back down the ladder. Maybe Calum agreed… or maybe he just didn’t want to put up with the red-haired man’s shit anymore.

“Mike? _Mike_! I need you!” Luke’s feeble voice broke the uncomfortable quiet between them and Michael tensed up when he took in how weak the blond man sounded… how _frightened_.

“I’m here, Lukey!” Michael called, avoiding Calum’s gaze. “I’ll be right down, okay?”

Luke muttered his assent and Michael’s cheeks heated as he looked up warily into Calum’s face, hating himself for how much _hurt_ there was saturating his oldest friend’s soft features.

“Why doesn’t he ask for me anymore?” Calum whispered but Michael didn’t have any answer he was willing to share and, from the pain spreading through the younger man’s gaze, Michael thought Calum already had his suspicions.

He left the dark-haired man alone on the landing instead, with no one for company but the spiders. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself - almost like he was trying to stop himself from falling apart - as the dust motes spun around him like planets.

From the foot of the stairs, Michael glanced back and felt his heart tear cleanly in two at the sight of the tears rolling silently down the dark-haired man’s face.

Michael turned his back, only hating himself more as he limped away.

Calum was left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that!  
> Please remember to leave comments and kudos.  
> Your support so far has meant the world to me.  
> There's not long left now :)


	22. surface wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's up and it's angsty as hell!  
> This combined quite a few chapters in my plan so you're in for a bit of a rough ride - sorry!  
> Hope you enjoy :)

The stars were going out overhead, one by one. Michael was clinging to the roof of their house, his legs firmly entangled in ivy as he clutched his grandpa’s precious telescope to his chest. The wind was whipping around him like a tornado, tearing away the slate roof tiles as their house was methodically dismantled, brick by brick.

The twister was like a beast as it pressed in closer, familiar faces swimming amongst the grey smoke of it as it howled around him. He saw Calum for a moment, his dark eyes betrayed as his lips asked _why_. Luke spun past too, limp and pale, his eyes spilling tears down his beautiful face as he turned away from the red-haired man in disgust. Ashton floated past next, lifeless and cold, his head lolling as his broken body was battered in the wind.

A sob lodged itself in Michael’s throat when Karen reached for him, so close that their fingertips almost brushed before she was wrenched away, suffocated by the smoke. Michael tried to stand - to reach her - but the telescope tumbled away and the wind snatched it, tearing it to pieces.

“Grandpa Jack,” he croaked, choking on tears as he reached out in vain, even as the ivy tightened around his legs. “I’m sorry. I’m so _sorry_. I -”

Michael jerked awake in shock as the front door slammed open in the hallway. It crashed into the wall with a thunderous bang and his heart raced in his chest as he tried to work out his surroundings. The wind was still doing its best to mangle the house but there was no tornado in sight now and old Jack Clifford’s telescope still sat safely in its case on his bedside table.

“What the fuck?” the red-haired man breathed, feeling faintly sick at how fast his pulse was. He reached clumsily for his cane - more out of habit than need - and limped out into the hallway, freezing when he heard the creak of their front door as it swung on its hinges all by itself.

The night sky was inky black outside, the stars hidden behind thick storm clouds as the pine trees bent under the force of the wind. Snow still stretched glittering across the ground, pure and unsullied. There were no footsteps in sight… so how was the door open?

Michael was trembling as he reached for the handle but it was no good. The wind was so strong that he had to go out onto the porch in an effort to drag it closed and the hairs on the back of his neck rose instantly, his palms growing sweaty as he had the sudden sickening feeling that something was running towards him...  _chasing_ him.

Michael was panicking, shaking so badly he could barely stay upright as he forced the door shut behind him, leaning against the wood as the wind renewed its attack on the house with a threatening rattle of brick and mortar.

“Just the wind,” Michael breathed, knees still wobbly beneath him as he turned to double check that the front door was locked. “Just the wind, Clifford. Pull yourself together.”

As Michael made his slow way back down the hallway to his bedroom, a sense of dread crawled over him, impeding his every movement like spiderwebs as he slowed to a shuffle. His heartbeat sounded like drumfire in his ears and, when Michael finally came to an uncertain halt in his bedroom doorway, he stiffened as though icy water was trickling down his spine.

There was a Polaroid lying on his bedroom floor, face-up as the smiling family stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. It hadn’t been there a moment before - Michael was _certain_ of that - and he felt like he was drowning in his terror as he staggered towards it, falling painfully to his knees as he scrabbled to pick it up.

He felt cold all over as he stared at it, his eyes slipping past the mother and father for a moment as he focused on the baby, taking in the honey-coloured curls and the hint of dimples creasing soft cheeks, still rounded with baby fat. Michael took in those familiar hazel eyes and his own welled with tears, at least until the moment his bedroom window shattered over him and the shards of glass rained down onto the floor around him.

Michael fell backwards with a cry, his hands raised to protect himself from the razor-sharp fragments as the shadowy figure barrelled into the room, its edges obscure as black mist as it twisted in the empty air, outline blurring again and again until it didn’t seem to have a form at all.

“Get out,” a livid voice rasped, cold and numbing as it settled over Michael’s skin, flattening him to the ground as the broken glass sparkled around him like crystals. “ _Get out_.” The voice became sharper, more desperate: “Get _out of me_.”

Michael stared up at it in shock, more confused than frightened now. The moment he stopped fighting, the smoke twisted away into emptiness, leaving nothing but the uncomfortable sensation that he was _not alone_ , lying there limply on his bedroom floor.

Michael blinked, wincing a little as he became aware of a small cut on his forehead caused by the broken glass. It stung and, when he pushed himself up weakly into a sitting position, he had to blink blood out of his eyes. Leaves were blowing into his room through the shattered windowpane now and the snowflakes were already being buffeted in on the breeze, melting all over his desk.

The Polaroid was nowhere to be seen but Michael knew he hadn’t imagined it, just like he knew the disembodied voice he had heard hadn’t been a horrifying demon from inside his own head. This time, it was **real**.

He was sure of it.

Michael left his cane lying on the floor as he picked his way carefully through the broken glass, making his way to the bottom of the stairs. He had been so frightened for so long that it almost felt normal now. He wasn’t sure who he would be without this fear wrapped around him like jaws.

The stairs creaked under his weight as Michael limped upstairs, every bone in his body feeling achingly heavy as he gripped the bannister. His palm was bleeding too and all of the bruises he had sustained from falling down the stairs throbbed in time with his exhausted heart.

Michael couldn’t be expected to go on like this. _No one_ could.

He felt far older than his years when he finally came to a stop on the upstairs landing, reaching out to rap lightly on Calum and Luke’s bedroom door. His breath rose in the air in front of him like dragon’s breath and Michael shivered as he wrapped his arms around himself, smearing blood on his pyjama top.

The door creaked open after a moment and Calum peered through the gap, his expression surprisingly fearful for someone who refused to admit that there was anything strange about the house.

“Mike?” Calum whispered, glancing back over his shoulder at the sleeping lump in his double bed before he looked back at his oldest friend. “It’s three in the morning. What’s going on?”

Michael’s shoulders slumped a little as he reached up to rub at his head, smearing the blood across his forehead in a stark crimson line as the scrape ached.

“Something opened the front door,” Michael replied quietly, fighting the urge to glance back over his shoulder because he could _feel_ that the shadowy figure was lurking there somewhere, watching, _waiting_. “I went to go shut it, then when I got back into my bedroom, the window smashed. I’m bleeding but not a lot. There was glass and snow everywhere though. I can’t sleep there tonight.”

“Shit,” Calum breathed, his tired brown eyes wide with fear. Michael shuddered, his relief blooming in his chest when the dark-haired reached for his shoulder, pulling him hurriedly inside.

It was so dark in the room with the curtains drawn that Michael could barely make out anything; just the vague outline of the large bed and the ancient wardrobe in the corner, looming ominously out of the inky blackness like a tombstone.

“Did you say you were bleeding, Mike?” Calum asked suddenly, his voice tightening with concern and a bone-deep exhaustion that should _not_ have been so easy to identify with.

“Only a tiny bit,” the red-haired man said heavily. “From the glass, y’know?” He faltered, unwilling to mention his encounter with the shadowy figure although he was uncertain why. “It’ll be okay. They’re only surface wounds.”

“Okay,” Calum said tiredly, his shoulders slumping as he hung his head dejectedly. “Okay, Mike. If you’re sure. Just get into bed, okay? I want this night to be over. We’ll clean up the mess in the morning.”

The tension felt suddenly brittle between them and Michael’s heart ached when he heard the lump rising in Calum’s throat. All at once, he realised that the younger man had opened the door far too quickly for someone who had been sleeping before Michael knocked. He must have been lying up here in the darkness, thinking… maybe even _crying_.

When Michael clambered painfully up onto the mattress and settled down beneath the covers, he realised too late that he had taken the spot between Calum and Luke.

He sensed the dark-haired man lingering by the edge of the bed for a moment, his arms wrapped around himself as he stood on the fringes of his own relationship.

“Come to bed, Cal,” Michael murmured, holding the duvet back and shivering a little when Calum did as he was asked, his cold feet brushing Michael’s between the sheets. Luke murmured sleepily behind them, one arm finding its way languidly around the red-haired man’s waist as the blond man settled down to sleep again. Calum’s breath escaped him in a tearful sigh.

“You know I’m not stupid, right?” the dark-haired man whispered suddenly, his tears boiling into Michael’s shoulder when Calum tucked his face into the pillow. “I have _eyes_ , Mike. I see how you two look at each other. I know he doesn't want me anymore.”

“Cal, you don’t understand -”

“No, _you_ don’t understand, Michael!” Calum whispered hotly, the tears falling faster now, his sobs catching in his chest. He’d moved as close to the edge of the bed as he possibly could and Michael couldn’t go after him; he was pinned down by the blond man’s arm draped over his waist.

“What don’t I understand, Calum?” Michael asked softly, too tired to fight now. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

The younger man prodded Michael in the chest hard with a shaking fingertip, his tear-wet eyes smouldering like burning coals in the darkness of the room.

“He was _mine_ first,” Calum said in a hard little voice, his fingers twisting in the duvet like it was all that he had left to hold onto anymore.

“Actually he wasn’t,” Michael replied a little more sharply than he’d intended to. He remembered the party; the flowers framing Luke’s pale face and the effortless rhythm of their bodies together beneath the stars. His heart seemed to swell in his chest when the blond man’s forehead came to rest lightly on his shoulder, reminding him of their stolen kiss. “Luke doesn’t belong to anybody. Not me and definitely not you either.”

Calum froze, gazing through the blinding darkness at Michael with a horror that saturated the air around them. They were sharing the same pillow, so close the tips of their noses were almost touching, but they had never felt further apart.

“You… you mean that…” Calum’s voice trailed away dully. There was a note of uncertainty in his voice that had rarely been present before they’d moved to the Lake District and had their lives turned upside down. Calum was shaking with anger as he lay there but the tears were still falling and Michael’s guilt was warring with _strength_ now as the conflicting emotions tore him up inside… not that the dark-haired man seemed to be feeling much better than Michael did.

Calum was used to getting his own way.

This was unfamiliar territory for both of them now.

“I’m sorry, Cal,” Michael said softly, the words sticking in his throat although he forced them out painfully anyway. “I can’t speak for Luke but… I don’t think either of us wanted to hurt you. Sometimes life just… kicks you in the teeth. You have to learn to roll with the punches. You have to keep the things that are good close to your chest... otherwise, what's the point of it? What's the point of _any_ of it? If you don't keep what matters close, you'll just lose it.”

“Spare me the fucking lecture, you backstabbing prick!” Calum spat, rolling over and hunching up into a tight little ball under the duvet, radiating betrayal and fury. His shoulders were shaking with humiliated sobs and it was a mark of just how scared Calum really was that he _still_ didn’t leave the room, even now.

“I’m sorry,” Michael repeated, softer this time. He was at a complete loss to know what to do. “I really am sorry for hurting you.”

“That’s not enough, _Mikey bear_ ,” Calum whispered, his tone venomous, his eyes scrunched tightly shut as the tears boiled down his cheeks in the darkness. “That will never, _ever_ be enough.”

A soft sound broke the quiet behind Michael and his heart broke in his chest when he felt Luke’s tears soaking into his bloodstained pyjama shirt. He must have been awake for long enough to hear the fight and something inside Michael felt like it was shattering as he lay there between them, drained of any tears he might have had left as the blood welled on his forehead and they broke down on either side of him.

The pain roared through him like a bonfire and Michael closed his eyes tightly as he waited for the night to end.

It felt like it was never going to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Can't wait to hear what you think :)


	23. funeral bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back already!  
> Sorry if this is super angsty.  
> I'll fix any mistakes later.  
> Hope it's okay!

In the cold light of day, Michael regretted his casually cruel words from the night before.

Calum had lay crying silently beside him for what seemed like hours before finally slipping into a fitful sleep and Luke hadn’t been much better, still soaking Michael’s pyjama top with his tears. The guilt had settled over them like a shroud and Michael knew then that this had all been a terrible mistake.

He should never have been so blunt to Calum and he _definitely_ shouldn’t have made such an impulsive decision without speaking to Luke first. Michael had torn everything to pieces and he couldn’t see any way of putting things back together again.

Calum would never forgive him and the older man couldn’t find it in himself to resent his oldest friend for that. Michael had tried to carve Calum’s heart right out of his chest and he couldn’t think of a single excuse as to why his behaviour had been acceptable.

Maybe it was the house, messing with his head and making him latch on to anything that made him feel safe… or maybe this was just who Michael was now – just who Michael had _always_ been – twisted and broken, and lashing out at everyone around him because, if _he_ couldn’t be happy, why did anyone else deserve to be?

That was the one that rang truthfully as a funeral bell in his chest. It was the reason that Michael had never had any friends except Calum and Luke. It was the reason that none of his cousins had ever wanted to play with him when he was a child.

It was the reason that Michael was slowly turning into his father the older he got.

Michael saw Daryl Clifford’s face when he looked in the mirror sometimes, eyes burning with this desperate fear that nothing he did would ever be enough. It felt like everything was sliding out of Michael’s grip like the melting snow outside. Michael was following in his father’s footsteps and there seemed to be no way off the path that had been set out for him. It felt like fate that Michael was destined to cause so much unhappiness to the people he cared about.

He dwelled on this for hours before finally drifting into unconsciousness sometime around five in the morning but, when he finally gave up on the pretence of sleep when the sun was just beginning to clear the horizon, Calum was already gone.

Luke was still lying beside Michael but he wasn’t sleeping. His arms were wrapped tightly around his folded legs and his eyes were sore from crying so much the night before. Luke was watching Michael with this appalled kind of resignation, shying away when the older man reached for him hesitantly.

“Don’t,” Luke whispered, his bright eyes welling with tears again. “We can’t, Mike. Surely even _you_ can see that.”

The blond man struggled out from under the covers and Michael didn’t stop him. He simply watched through exhausted gritty-feeling eyes as Luke walked away from him into the brighter light of the hallway.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Michael said softly and the younger man stiffened, his shoulders tense as he shot a reproachful glance over his shoulder.

“Do you think that makes a single bit of difference?” Luke asked sharply. Michael’s cheeks heated and he resisted the urge to drag the duvet over his head in a sulk.

“I don’t need _you_ talking to me like that too,” he snapped. “You’re not innocent in this, Luke. You kissed me back, remember?”

Calum – who had just reappeared in the doorway – made a sound like someone had kicked him in the stomach.

“Great job, Mike,” Luke said tightly, his eyes spilling furious tears again as he stormed out of the room, refusing to look at either of them. “This is just _perfect_.”

Calum was sagging against the doorframe, his face paler than Michael had ever seen it and – quite suddenly – all of the pain and fear the house had caused Michael was _nothing_ compared to the agony saturating Calum’s face.

He looked broken inside and Michael didn’t think he could fix things this time.

“I’ve boarded up the window in your room,” Calum muttered without looking the older man in the eye. “I’m going to work now. Handing my resignation in after so I won’t be back ‘til late.”

Michael sat up stiffly, worrying at his bottom lip between his teeth as he regarded the dark-haired man unhappily.

“You’re quitting?” he whispered. “After everything that’s happened?”

“No other option for me now,” Calum said heavily, still directing his gaze at the floor. “Quite frankly, I can’t stand to look at either of you for a second longer than I have to.” A hint of last night’s venom had returned to his voice but he just sounded tired now, like he was almost too weak to stand up. “You make me _sick_ , Michael.”

“But… but, Cal…” Michael didn’t know how to put into words the emotions that were roaring through him. He just wanted the dark-haired man to see _sense_. “But this was your dream,” he said imploringly, his green eyes downcast. “All you ever wanted was to be a ranger.”

Calum actually laughed and the sound was like nails grating over a blackboard, making Michael wince.

“My dream? My _dream_?!” Another bubble of helpless laughter escaped him but his eyes were so cold. “No, this is a fucking nightmare, Michael. You and this godforsaken house made sure of that.”

Calum took a deep, steadying breath before he finally pushed away from the doorframe, strong enough to stand alone.

“As soon as this snow melts,” he said quietly. “I’m leaving.”

Michael watched him go – his best friend of almost two decades – and realised far too late that there was a hole in his heart now that would never be filled. Calum had spent so many years dedicating himself to building Michael’s confidence and happiness, and Michael had repaid him by destroying Calum’s relationships both with the first man he had ever loved and his first true friend, all in one fell swoop.

“Cal?” Michael asked in a small voice, speaking before he could overthink it. “Do you think I’m a bit like my dad now?”

The younger man froze, his shoulders hunched as he clearly weighed his response carefully before speaking.

“No,” Calum said after a moment, his voice even harder now, his hands curled into fists by his sides. “No, I think you’re _exactly_ like him.”

Calum went downstairs, leaving Michael to slump back down onto the rumpled sheets again as he stared up listlessly at the ceiling, unable to find it in himself to deny the words… and maybe that was the worst part. What Calum had said was _true_.

There was no one who felt more like the world was holding out on him than Daryl Clifford… except perhaps his son.

Michael always went for the quickest fix to his problems instead of addressing them properly. That was why he tried to lose himself in Luke when the mystery of Ashton caused him too much fear… and that was why Daryl had ran his own son over in the car.

He had always hated Michael; had thought him a waste of space because he never listened to his father, always intentionally defying him and refusing to let them get close to each other. The hatred had burnt deeper than that though; had stemmed from Daryl’s own unhealthy relationship with his father and the abandonment he had experienced after losing his mother at a young age.

After exploring it in counselling with Eve, Michael had come to the conclusion that Daryl felt the way he did about his son because he was scared of losing Karen too. He was afraid that if she loved her son, there wouldn’t be enough left for him and – being more than a little unhinged anyway after years of alcohol and drug dependency (which required a mind-set that seemed to be hereditary, Michael thought bitterly) – Daryl had done everything he could to make his son leave, first shouting and threatening him before trying more permanent methods.

Daryl had seen his son crossing the road on his way home from college and his foot hadn’t shifted from the accelerator. The car had hurtled on and Michael had noticed far too late that he was directly in its path.

It was coincidence… chance... _fate_.

‘ _No, I think you’re **exactly** like him._ ’

The light in Michael’s eyes waned.

Was that how Calum felt now? Like Michael had betrayed him _that_ badly?

He stayed lying on the bed until he heard the front door close behind Calum an hour later, cowardly to the end.

Luke was waiting for him downstairs, pale-faced and exhausted as he drank coffee at the dining table. The colour scheme in that room was largely grey and it seemed to match their moods when Michael finally sat down across from him, cradling a glass of orange juice between his shaking hands.

“Did he talk to you after I left?” Luke asked quietly, grimacing a little when he broke the silence. Michael nodded mournfully and the blond man sighed, his broad shoulders slumping as though under a great weight. “What did he say?”

Michael hesitated, mulling the words over in silence for a moment as he allowed them to sink in.

“That I’m just like my dad… and that I make him sick.” A frown creased Luke’s brow as he heard those words but Michael ploughed on regardless. “Oh, he’s quitting his job too. Says he’s moving out once the snow melts.” An awkward silence grew between them as Michael spoke one last time. “He said living here was a nightmare.”

Luke shivered, glaring around at the living room’s shadowy corners and squaring his shoulders against the cold.

“It is,” he agreed before taking a sip of his coffee, his nose red with the cold. “Cal was wrong last night though… about me not wanting him anymore. I just… I guess I was just never ready to admit that I wanted you too, Mikey.”

Luke’s face seemed to collapse in on itself as a tear slipped down his cheek. “You were right earlier when you said that I wasn’t innocent,” he said quietly, his voice weak and ashamed. “I’ve always loved you both too much. Ever since I came out and my family didn’t want to know, I loved you both.”

Another tear rolled down Luke’s cheek and his bottom lip wobbled as he peered into the depths of his mug like, if he only searched hard enough, it might give him the answers he needed.

“I’ve loved you both for so long now,” the blond man murmured, looking up at Michael with something like loss. “I don’t know who I am without you both. I don’t know how I’ll cope.”

“You’ll have to cope,” Michael said softly. “There’s no other option left.”

Luke pushed his coffee away shakily, burying his face in his hands as he took a deep breath.

“Calum hates me now,” he whispered and, although Michael’s hand twitched towards Luke in an effort to offer comfort, he didn’t touch him. He wasn’t sure he was allowed anymore.

“Did he tell you that?” Michael asked but Luke shook his head, the tear tracks silvery on his cheeks as the winter sun drifted higher in the sky outside. The icicles hanging on the branches of the oak tree were beginning to melt and the steady dripping sound was like a ticking clock, bringing them closer and closer to the moment when Calum would leave them for good.

“No,” Luke replied after so long that Michael almost forgot he’d even asked a question. “But I know he does. He… he told me this morning that he’s moving back in with his family. He said I can go with him, if I want to. Like a second chance.” Luke’s voice twisted around the words and he reached out to grip Michael’s hand tightly, their knuckles white as pearls in the muted light. “He told me that… if I stay here with you, we’re over.”

“What did you tell him?” Michael breathed, his heart rising in his throat. Luke raised their entwined hands, pressing a tear-wet kiss to the older man’s knuckles.

“I told him I guessed I was staying here then.”

Despite how nonchalantly Luke had spoken, Michael knew it was forced. The younger man was shaking, his eyelashes spiky with tears, the pain on his face clear for anyone who cared enough to look.

“I couldn’t go back to London,” Luke whispered, sounding almost like he was trying to convince himself now. “My family are… they’re never going to forgive me for being the way I am… and you wouldn’t exactly rush back either, would you? I won’t lose _both_ of you. I can’t.”

“This is all my fault,” Michael muttered and Luke gave him a watery smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“That’s awfully self-centred of you,” the blond man said, his weak grin fading away as he gazed out of the window, at the fateful dripping of the melting snow. “I’m big enough to make my own mistakes.”

Michael recoiled, stung.

“ _Mistake_?” he asked, his hand slipping free even though he'd thought the same thing himself the night before. Luke gazed at him steadily, unapologetic.

“I love you both, Mikey, but what the hell would you call this mess we’ve got ourselves in?” he asked, tone dry. “This is a fuck-up of epic proportions.”

“It’s not a joke, Luke,” Michael pointed out and the blond man sighed heavily.

“Don’t you think I know that, Mike?” Luke shook his head, his expression nothing short of shattered. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry… and I think I’ve cried enough for a lifetime since moving here, don’t you?”

“True enough,” Michael admitted.

They lapsed into silence again, watching as the world woke up outside. Luke had to work later that day – his first shift since he’d been attacked – and Michael wasn’t relishing spending the afternoon on his own.

“I do love Calum,” Luke said into the silence, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the table. “I won’t just be able to turn that off.”

“And I love Ashton,” Michael muttered unthinkingly. “But if something isn’t meant to be, that’s all there is to it.” He didn’t realise he’d made a mistake until he saw Luke staring at him in confusion, a frown creasing his brow at Michael’s dangerously stupid slip-up.

“Ashton?” Luke repeated. “Who’s Ashton? Someone from work? I’ve never heard you mention him before.” Luke tried to smile but it didn’t warm his eyes. “You didn’t make him up, did you?”

“I’m not crazy!” Michael snapped and Luke drew back a little, his face paling. Clearly he’d been joking to relieve the tension and the red-haired man instantly regretted his outburst. He bit his lip hard as they sat there in silence, his teeth pressing deep enough to draw blood as he weighed up whether to answer or not. He knew there was no real choice though. After all of the anguish he’d caused, Michael owed Luke the truth.

“Ashton used to live in this house, Luke. I saw him right after we moved in. He was sweet and funny and… and sad. His mum is dead. His dad is awful to him. He just… he needed me… and I needed him. I guess maybe we found each other at the right time.”

“But… that doesn’t make any sense,” Luke said, his frown deepening to wariness now. “There’s nowhere up here he could live… and… and didn’t John say how long it had been since another family had lived here?” Luke’s expression quickly became uncomfortable. “Wait, he’s… he’s not like forty or something, is he?”

“No!” Michael exclaimed, far too loudly for so early in the morning. “No, he’s… he’s nineteen.”

“So… what? He’s homeless or something? He lives in the attic? How come Cal and I have never seen him?!”

“Because…” Michael faltered, his cheeks flaming now. He could feel himself losing control of the situation but there was nothing he could do now. He was in freefall and the ground was rushing rapidly towards him. “Because it’s like that night with the noose… or when we searched for the other house… he’s –”

“Not real,” Luke supplied, his eyes widening with alarm. It wasn’t a question and Michael bristled at the insinuation.

“I’m not crazy, Luke!” he repeated but Luke was standing up now, pressed just a little too close to the wall for comfort.

“No, of course you’re not, Mike,” the blond man said mechanically but his face was blotchy with stress and he looked afraid. “I… I need to get ready for work.”

“But you don’t work ‘til the evening,” Michael whispered, sitting alone at the table with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Luke was backing away now.

“I have the afternoon shift,” the blond man said faintly. “And… and I think it’ll take a while to wheel my bike down to Wasdale Head with all this snow.”

“Be careful then,” Michael murmured. Luke sniffed behind him, tearful yet again.

“I’ll be okay, Mike,” he promised. “It’ll be easier to cycle from there. The roads should be clearer.”

“Okay,” Michael whispered, shaking badly now. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

Luke disappeared upstairs to get dressed but he left a few minutes later without a word, disappearing out into the crisp morning light.

Luke thought he’d cracked. Michael could see it in his eyes when he’d finally told someone the truth about Ashton… except, how could it be the truth? What could the things Michael had discovered possibly add up to?

Nothing made _sense_ anymore.

“Stupid,” Michael said harshly to himself as he rose shakily, limping back towards his bedroom. “Stupid, _stupid_ , _**stupid**_!”

No wonder his father had hated him. No wonder his mum had probably wanted him gone. No wonder his grandpa had died and left him behind. No wonder Michael was losing everyone he loved.

It was darker than he was used to in his bedroom now that the window had been boarded up. The glass had been swept up from the floor and the snowmelt dried with paper towels. Michael wanted to fall down when he saw how hard Calum had worked that morning, even despite everything he had been put through.

Michael had thought of his best friend as selfish once but suddenly that didn’t seem fair at all.

Calum was the kindest of all of them.

A sob tore out of Michael as he realised the truth of this and he buckled under the weight of the realisation, his knee giving way with a vicious stab of pain. He crawled to his bedside table, bad leg dragging behind him as he reached up blindly for the pill bottle. There were only a few left now – maybe three or four – and he swallowed them uncaringly, not thinking of the consequences as he sank down onto the rug.

If he’d been concerned for his own wellbeing, it might have worried him that he hadn’t taken any of his medication at all for around a week now and that a double dose would hit him _very_ hard but Michael just couldn’t bring himself to care. Everything felt too hopeless.

The pills stuck in his throat and he fought the urge to gag as he rummaged clumsily through the boxes under his bed in his search for something to wash it down with. Michael’s fingertips encountered glass and he withdrew the bottle swiftly, cracking open the lid and downing the fiery liquid with a grimace.

He’d bought the bottle of vodka to celebrate Calum starting his job as a ranger but, since the dark-haired man had hated it so much, the alcohol had never been consumed until now.

Michael gulped it down steadily, his otherwise-empty stomach churning at the abuse it was receiving as he slumped face-down onto the floor. The bottle rolled away and the last dregs of the vodka seeped down into the cracks between the wooden panels.

Michael’s head was spinning and his stomach was heaving now. The tears were boiling as they trickled down his cheeks and he honestly felt like he was going to die.

His eyes fluttered shut and the next time they opened – rolling wildly as he failed to work out where he was – the light under his door was shining which meant that it was evening and someone was home. He could hear movement in the kitchen, the soft sound of music playing gently. It must have been Luke then.

He hadn’t even checked to make sure Michael was okay.

His stomach churned again and the red-haired man choked, his back arching as his stomach emptied itself on the floor. He had been copiously sick but he was so exhausted that he couldn’t even bring himself to move. His bones felt too big for his skin, aching whenever he so much as shifted.

When his bedroom door seemed to swing open of its own accord, there was no way Michael had the strength to turn around.

“I’m dying,” he whispered, unsure whether it was true or not. The shadows in the room shifted and a familiar face made itself apparent as his bedroom door clicked shut again.

“No, you’re not,” Calum promised, kneeling down beside him and brushing Michael’s hair away from his sweaty forehead. Calum’s jaw was still squared with anger but there was a pity in his eyes all the same. “Sit up now, Mikey, okay? Drink this water.”

“But I hurt you,” Michael croaked, his eyes stinging with tears as he slumped against Calum. “Hurt you so bad.”

“Yeah, you did,” Calum said bluntly, still combing Michael’s hair back soothingly. “But that doesn’t matter right now, Mike. I’m not letting you choke to death on your own vomit.”

Calum dragged Michael over so that they were both leaning against his bed, the red-haired man’s head resting heavily on his shoulder as Calum sighed softly in the quiet. For just a moment, it felt like nothing had changed… like they’d never left London… never even met _Luke_.

It was just them – Michael and Calum – maybe for the last time.

It was bittersweet.

“I don’t deserve you,” Michael whispered and Calum sighed again, like all of the fight was leaking out of him.

“No, you don’t,” he replied but he still stayed.

Bless him, he stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fingers crossed this has answered some of your questions!  
> Can't wait to hear what you think :)


	24. strange and unusual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me two days to write and I swear I cried the whole time.  
> It's really long too so good luck with this!
> 
> (If I've missed any mistakes, I'll try to fix them asap.)

Michael woke up to an empty house.

He lay there just breathing for a moment, drowning in the silence. There was no sound of footsteps upstairs; no clatter of crockery as Luke sorted breakfast or Calum poured himself some water after a morning run. There didn’t seem to be anyone else there at all.

Michael rose stiffly, his sciatica aching as he padded across the wooden floor into the hallway outside. The morning light was gloomy as it saturated the room, painting everything muted greys and silvers. Calum and Luke’s shoes were gone from their place beside the doormat. Only Michael’s scuffed combat boots remained.

“Oh,” he said softly as his heart broke quietly in his chest. “Right.”

The pain he could feel lessened a little when he entered the living room. Despite there being no evidence of morning coffees or plates of mostly-eaten toast, the crumpled quilt Calum had been sleeping under on the sofa was lying abandoned on the floor, almost like he’d left in a rush. The shadow in Michael’s head was certain that they had been planning to desert him for weeks but the rational part of him still remaining didn’t believe this for a second.

Through the living room window, the trees were stark and bare as winter came to an end. Most of the ice had melted into muddy puddles and the snow was almost gone entirely but Calum hadn’t left, even despite his threat of returning to London as soon as it was safe. Privately, Michael didn’t think Calum had ever meant to leave at all; only to scare them and make them feel just a tiny part of the pain he felt himself.

Michael couldn’t say he blamed him for that.

What he and Luke had done to Calum was _horrendous_.

Michael just wished he could feel conviction as to why he had believed it necessary to act so rashly in the first place but, with no one else in the house aside from him, it was suddenly easy to separate his thoughts from the senseless animosity rattling around in his head.

As Michael came to a stop in the centre of the living room, a pang went through him. Luke’s previously beloved peace lily was sitting dead in its pot on the coffee table and, beside it, there was a note.

  
_Mike,_

_Sorry to leave without warning. Luke's family called last night to tell him that his mum is sick. It sounds really bad._

_I'm driving Luke to London so he can say goodbye. He didn't want to wake you - I don't know why but I figured you could do with the rest too, after what you did the other night._

_Please don't do anything stupid._

_We'll come back as soon as we can._

_\- Calum_

 

“Oh god. Poor Luke,” Michael muttered, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he let the note flutter back down again. He didn’t know what to do now; he was off work for the week after Calum had kindly made up a lie about _why_ Michael had been unwell and there was nothing to fill his day with but thinking. The empty hours stretched out in front of him endlessly for a moment and a shiver ran through him as his knee throbbed with pain.

He wished he’d brought his cane in from the bedroom but he hadn’t thought to this morning, too tired and confused by the unusual quiet of their house. He knew that had been a mistake now though; ever since he had riskily taken the last of his painkillers a few days previously, a sick sort of fragility had descended upon him until even walking to the next room unaided felt impossible.

He didn’t want to be alone here. The realisation came to him out of nowhere and Michael shuddered as he limped out of the room, getting ready as quickly as he could. The watermark in the bathroom had covered almost all of the ceiling now and he stared up at it warily as he cleaned his teeth, trying to avoid his exhausted reflection in the mirror. It was easier to focus on the spider web in the corner; the chipped porcelain of the sink and the way the whorls of frost on the window looked like a handprint on the icy glass.

Michael almost fell in his haste to rush downstairs and, by the time he had finally dressed in warm clothes and located his cane from where it had rolled under the bed, his heart was pounding too fast in his chest. He had already wrenched the front door open and was making his way as quickly as he could down the long driveway when he realised that he was no longer alone.

Ashton was keeping pace beside him, his hands buried in his pockets, seeming smaller without the ever-present baseball flying between his palms. His curls were limper than usual and his glasses were as crooked as ever. Ashton wavered like a spark that was about to flicker out.

Michael was not surprised to see him standing there. He realised that on some level he had been waiting for the younger man, without quite understanding why. Ashton always appeared when Michael felt lost or alone. Why should this time be any different?

“Hey, Mikey,” the younger man said softly as they stepped out onto Deadman’s Rise together. “I saw your friends leaving this morning without you. You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Okay,” Michael said uncertainly, finding it difficult to concentrate. He was trying to avoid eye contact with Ashton; ever since his realisation on the night he was trying so hard to forget, the older man found it difficult to even look at him. He thought of the words he would need to say – thought of Luke and Calum, and the dismay that followed every move Michael made – and sadness welled inside him like rainwater. “It’s kind of a long story though.”

“That’s alright,” Ashton said kindly as they walked through the puddles together. “We still have time.”

The further from the house they walked, the clearer Michael’s head felt.

There was an unsettling feeling gnawing in the back of his mind as his battered boots carried him onwards and Michael identified it easily as guilt. It burnt inside him like a candle flame, steady and destructive as the fire licked down to the wick.

Michael couldn’t understand why he’d done it; why he’d deliberately torn Calum and Luke apart, chipping away at their love for _months_ until they fell to pieces in his grasping hands – but that wasn’t Michael, was it?

It certainly _hadn’t_ been, back before they’d left London.

Michael might have been unhappy then but he’d also loved his best friends more than anything on the planet. He would’ve given anything for them to finally get their act together and admit their love. Hell, he’d set up a _wager_ with Mali over when they’d confess their feelings to each other. Would he have done that if he hadn’t wanted to accept their relationship?

Michael couldn’t understand how everything had blown so out of control.

He hadn’t looked at Luke in a remotely romantic light since they were sixteen and both of them had been happy with that. It had been one drunken mistake that, fortunately, they had been able to move past without ruining their friendship. There had been no reason at all to pick at that scar until it bled now and _especially_ not when their dear friend Calum would inevitably be caught in the crossfire… so _fuck_ , what had possessed them to do it? To throw all caution and common sense to the wind for the briefest taste of long-forgotten lust?

Michael felt like all of the choices he had made since moving here had been decided by somebody else entirely.

He looked in the mirror sometimes and didn’t even recognise the face staring back at him.

“So… that’s it,” the red-haired man finished quietly as they left Deadman’s Rise behind. “It feels like we’re not the same people who moved up here all those months ago. Luke and I have ruined _everything_. Calum hates the job he’s always wanted to do. Everything is _destroyed_ , Ash, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know how it all got so broken in the first place.”

Michael led Ashton down the long forest-lined road that would eventually take them towards the centre of the hamlet. It usually took around half an hour to reach the most thriving part of Wasdale Head but, on a slippery day like today, Michael knew it would be closer to an hour.

He was cold already but the air was fresh and the freezing temperature could be used to explain away the tears in his eyes if Ashton was cruel enough to point them out. The younger man didn’t seem to be in the judgemental mood however; he simply wandered along beside Michael in silence, his hands still buried in the pockets of his jeans as he glanced over at the older man unhappily.

“I don’t even know why we did it,” Michael said suddenly, his voice little more than a breath as he stared down at the damp floor morosely. “We’ve been so… so _horrible_ to Calum but… I don't know why. Whenever I try to remember, it just slips away.”

Ashton was looking at him so intently that Michael could feel the younger man’s gaze on his cheek but he still avoided eye contact, too frightened of the secrets he might find if he looked for too long.

“It doesn’t sound like you knew what you were doing,” Ashton said carefully, his tone measured as he finally looked away from Michael with a disappointed sigh. “If you really didn’t feel anything for each other before, maybe… maybe I know what happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael asked weakly, leaning on his cane as a heavy sigh escaped him.

Instead of answering him, Ashton simply stood there with his hands shaking as he reached for Michael, drawing the older man to a stop. Ashton’s hazel eyes were damp with tears as his fingers wrapped gently around Michael’s pale wrist and there was something in his tormented expression that kept the red-haired man from looking away.

“You already know, don’t you?” Ashton asked, a half-smile touching his lips as a tear rolled down his cheek. “Deep down at least. I never could pull the wool over your eyes, Mike. Not for a minute.”

“Well, you really weren’t very subtle,” Michael murmured, unsure whether to laugh or cry when Ashton leant against the low stone wall nearby, patting the space next to him in invitation. They sat down together in silence for a long moment before Ashton’s head came to rest hesitantly on the older man’s shoulder and Michael shuddered a little as he turned to press a kiss to the younger man’s head.

“It’s time for answers, Ashy,” he said gently. “Don’t you trust me with the truth?”

Ashton’s eyes fluttered shut and his shoulders tensed as he steeled himself to speak.

“Do you remember when I told you I was nineteen?” he asked softly. Michael’s teeth sank into his bottom lip as he gave a wordless nod and Ashton’s smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Well… I didn’t tell you the whole truth, Mike. I… I’ve been nineteen for a very long time.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked weakly, shivering from the cold as the stone wall made his sciatica ache dully. Ashton’s eyes were glassy with tears as he turned to look at the older man, their faces so close that Michael could have counted each individual eyelash if he wanted to. Ashton closed his eyes again, pressing a kiss to the older man’s shoulder through his thick winter coat, the touch so light that it was barely there at all.

“I _died_ when I was nineteen,” Ashton confessed as the tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m _dead_ , Michael, and I’ve been trapped here all alone for twenty two years in that _awful_ house… until you and your friends moved in. You all shone so brightly that I didn’t hurt anymore… but then it started to ruin you three as well. I watched it _happen_ but I was too scared to tell you… because then you might have left… because then I would have been _alone_ again.”

Ashton couldn’t look at him as he sat there, his hands gripping the wall hard as the tears dripped down his nose. Michael watched the droplets falling but they never seemed to reach the ground. It was almost as though Ashton wasn’t quite there anymore, now that he had told the truth… or maybe it was just that Michael knew to look for it now.

“I’m sorry you’ve been hurting for so long,” the older man said quietly, unsure of what else to say. He couldn’t wrap his head around everything Ashton had said because, god, how could what Ashton was telling him even be possible? And yet… there was no alternative. Ashton was the living proof - no pun intended - that it was possible to have a conversation with a dead man.

God, Ashton was _dead_... and he had been for as long as Michael had known him.

“Not even my best friend could see me,” the younger man whispered, his whole posture slumping as any fight that remained left him.

“Casey?” Michael guessed, making the connection quickly. Ashton shot him a curious look, wiping the tears away clumsily with his sleeve.

“Wait, _you_ know him too?”

“Know _of_ him,” Michael corrected, his voice soft and sad as he took in the longing on Ashton’s face. “We had dinner with the Mcleans a while ago and John was telling us about his son. He said Casey’s almost forty now. He married… I think her name was Bryana? Their third baby’s on the way.”

Ashton’s watery smile only served to make him look forlorn.

“Saw that one coming,” he mumbled, trying to look happy and failing dismally as the tears began to fall faster. “It’s not fair,” he croaked and Michael’s heart broke for a second time that morning. “It’s not _fair_ that he... that…”

The icy facade that Ashton had been hiding behind since the day they met finally thawed and, as the younger man broke down in great heaving sobs, Michael held him close.

“It’s not fair that he had the chance to grow old when that was taken from you,” the older man supplied softly. “I understand. You’re allowed to be angry about that. Who wouldn’t be?” What Michael was hearing still didn’t make complete sense to him but he was trying to be understanding; trying to be kind and patient because that was who he _was_ , damnit. He didn’t want to lose himself again.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” Ashton said, his voice as quiet as the distant winds raking across the surrounding mountains. “There’s been something dark in that house for a very long time. It’s like a shadow. It’s insidious… so quiet that you hardly notice it’s there until you’re already on the brink of being lost. Don’t deny it, Michael. I know you’ve seen it too. It’s why you’ve been having nightmares and seeing things that aren’t there.”

“But…” Michael’s voice was shaking as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly. “But how do you _know_?”

“Because it happened to my family too,” Ashton whispered. “The shadow took my dad. It tore all of the happiness in our lives to pieces.”

Michael didn’t want to listen anymore. Hearing someone _else_ talking about the shadowy figure made bile rise in his throat because… god, it was _real_ \- not just some toxic figment of Michael’s own madness.

“I want to believe you,” the red-haired man began slowly, his voice growing increasingly desperate. “But… but you must know how this sounds, Ash. I mean… how can the things you’re saying be true? Can you _prove_ that they happened? Because… because I’ve been going crazy for a really long time and sometimes...” Michael’s voice trailed away as he remembered the fear in Luke’s eyes when he’d started talking about Ashton; the worried looks his friends had exchanged when he’d had desperately searched for a house that didn’t exist. “Sometimes I doubt my reality exists the way I see it at the best of times.”

Ashton looked at him solemnly, one hand rising to cradle Michael’s cheek gently.

“Tell me how you felt about Calum and Luke before you moved here,” he suggested and the red-haired man blinked at him in surprise, unsure where Ashton was going with this line of questioning.

“Well… I loved them,” he said hesitantly, worrying at his bottom lip again as he remembered that day on the porch when he’d described them as his brothers. “They could always make me happy, no matter how sad I was. They were funny and they shone so _brightly_ , and I would’ve done anything to keep them glowing like that. I just wanted them to love each other. I never wanted them to stop smiling.”

“And after that?” Ashton asked tentatively. “Once you’d moved to the house, how did you feel about them then?”

Michael wrapped his arms around himself more tightly, hating the ugly sticky feeling clogging his veins like poison. “I hated them sometimes,” he whispered, wishing the words weren’t true but unable to deny them. “I hated them for being happier than I was. I resented them every single time I saw them together. I didn’t want to be anywhere near them – _either_ of them. I just…” His words faded and he hung his head in shame. “I wanted them to hurt the way I do,” he admitted, hating himself for it.

Ashton was nodding, his lips pressed flatly together in an unhappy line as he reached out to squeeze Michael’s hand tightly in his own, tethering him there.

“That’s what happened to my family too,” he whispered, blinking back tears as his despairing eyes bore into Michael’s. “We were so _happy_ before we moved to Wasdale Head in the seventies. We came here when I was only a little kid but… I still remember what happened. Things changed so slowly at first. My mum stopped kissing me goodnight. My dad didn’t want us leaving the house. No one sang along to the radio anymore. Dad started hurting us. I had bad dreams every night for _years_.”

Michael tried to hold Ashton’s hands but his fingers slipped right through and the younger man flinched at Michael’s gasp, apologising distractedly and concentrating so that he became solid once more. It seemed to be becoming more and more difficult for him to remain.

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” Ashton laughed weakly as the tears began to fall faster. “Bad things happened in that house. You said it was a bad place… and you were right. It always has been. There were stories before we moved there - kids saying it was haunted; that it wasn’t safe to go there alone - but my parents didn’t believe them. Why would they? It was only scaremongering.”

“Except… it was true, wasn’t it?” Michael whispered, shuddering. “There’s something dark in that house. Like… like a shadow… but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” He remembered the disembodied voice that night as he lay on his bedroom floor; remembered the door slamming and the windows smashing, and Luke getting knocked unconscious by seemingly nothing at all. “There’s something inside that wants everyone gone.”

Ashton nodded, his wobbling lips pressed together to keep his frightened tears locked away.

“I tried to tell my parents that we should leave… that we weren’t alone there,” Ashton continued in a softer voice, his eyes far away now. “I’d always known the shadow was nearby, poisoning everything. I grew up with it. It was always there; always watching me. My parents didn’t believe me at first but, by the time they started to notice it too, it was already too late. Dad was lost. There was no reasoning with him after that.”

The fear in Ashton’s eyes was withered now, faded; like it had been eating away at him for a very long time. Michael wondered how he’d never noticed it before and a pang of guilt shook him to the core as they sat there hunched on the wall together. Michael rubbed Ashton’s cold, trembling hands gently with the pads of his thumbs but there would be no warming the younger man now. He was already too far gone.

“What… what _is_ the shadow?” Michael breathed. “Because… it hit Luke once… attacked him in our kitchen. Was that… was that your _dad_ , Ash? Is he still trapped here too?”

“Not… not quite,” Ashton said slowly. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and the best explanation I can come to is that someone very angry, very scared, and very unhappy must have lived and died in that house. I think those emotions were so powerful that they lingered even after the person was gone and that they infect anyone who enters. Why else would my dad have dragged my mum across the room by her hair or shoved me down the stairs? He wouldn’t have hurt a _fly_ before we moved there, Mikey. He _loved_ us.”

Ashton was shaking, the movement so violent that his edges seemed to blur as he clutched the stone wall tightly.

“That wasn’t my dad, Mike,” the younger man said fiercely, his eyelashes spiky with tears. “I remember looking at him after he’d pushed me and realising that I’d never seen that man before in my life. He was so _cold_ and… dad had always been the gentlest man I knew. The house twisted him up; it chewed him up and spat someone else out again, and nothing in the world would bring him back. I don’t know what else to tell you, Mike,” Ashton continued and his words were catching with sobs now. “I’m being honest. I _swear_ I am.”

“I believe you,” Michael promised and, somehow, it was the truth.

He knew Ashton was right because he had sensed the malevolence in the house himself back in those early days before he had become accustomed to it. Living there had turned Michael into a shell of the man he’d been before, and it had been doing its best to hollow Luke and Calum out too. There would be nothing left behind of _any_ of them if they didn’t leave for good.

Goosebumps crawled across Michael’s skin as he remembered his nightmare where the shadow had filled him for a moment; remembered the knife dripping blood as his best friends died by his hand. Michael’s shiver had nothing to do with the cold air.

Maybe the house had been infecting them all along.

Maybe that was where their hatred and terror had come from.

Ashton was watching the emotions play out across the older man’s face with a tired sort of sympathy, like he had experienced all of them himself which – Michael realised with a dull jolt of horror – he _had_.

“Mum killed herself because of that house,” Ashton said in a weaker voice, flickering completely from view for a moment before he was solid again, nestled under Michael’s arm. The red-haired man held him closer in alarm. “She… she didn’t think dad loved her anymore, even though they’d adored each other all their life… and she thought I’d be better off without her.” Ashton’s seemed strangely numb now. “She hanged herself in the oak tree outside our house.”

The younger man spoke so matter-of-factly that hot tears rolled down Michael’s cheeks as a thrill of horror shot through him. He had been hearing the creaking of rope every night in his dreams for weeks now and, as the memory of the noose rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind, Michael drew Ashton into his arms protectively. The younger man was trembling so badly now that he could hardly talk and Michael tucked Ashton’s head beneath his chin, rocking him gently. The curly-haired man clung to him like a child, his fingers knotted in Michael’s coat as he held on for dear life.

Ashton didn’t sob, as Michael had perhaps been expecting. The younger man didn’t seem to have any tears left to cry now and, after twenty two years of isolation after his family had been so cruelly snatched from him, Michael was starting to understand why.

“You don’t have to say anymore if it’s too hard,” the red-haired man murmured, stroking Ashton’s curls back gently. “I believe you. I _promise_ I do. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“But you deserve the truth.” Ashton spoke so quietly that Michael had to strain to hear him now and the loss he could already feel resonating through him was painful as the younger man flickered again, momentarily disappearing from sight. “I haven’t got long left and I… I want you to know… to _understand_... to believe that what happened with your friends isn’t your fault, Mike. It’s the _house_. It’s been the house all along.”

“Oh, Ash,” Michael breathed, pressing a sweet kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “Thank you for caring so much.” Ashton pressed his cold nose to Michael’s neck, inhaling the comforting smell deeply, and a tear slipped down the red-haired man’s cheek as he held him closer. “If you think it will help you to tell me what happened then… I’m here for you. For as long as you need me to be. I swear it.”

“I know you are,” Ashton murmured, his hazel eyes sparkling with tears as he gave the older man another beautiful, damp smile. “Thank you.”

Michael squeezed Ashton’s hand encouragingly, waiting in silence as the sun rose behind the wisps of cloud and the rays painted the world like gold for the briefest of moments.

The younger man looked so beautiful in the sunlight that Michael knew he’d never forget this moment for as long as he lived.

“I killed my own father,” Ashton confessed and the beauty of the morning was broken, fracturing like shards of glass. The forced emotionlessness of his voice made Michael shudder but he listened in silence as the younger man finally came clean after two lonely decades.

Ashton’s fingers brushed the bruising on his neck before his hand fell back down to cover Michael’s, cold and familiar.

“The day after mum killed herself, dad came for me,” Ashton said quietly, staring down at his peeling trainers as he described what must have been the worst day of his life without question. The younger man stared into the distance as he remembered and even Michael’s arm wrapping warmly around the younger man’s shoulders wasn’t enough to break through the reverie he was sinking into.

“Dad was so _angry_ that mum had left him and… and he took that out on me. He wasn't going to work and he hadn't been letting me leave for school for _weeks_. I was going to sneak out but… he caught me coming out of my bedroom. He was waiting on the landing with a _knife_ and… and we wrestled for it and…”

“He _stabbed_ you?” Michael asked, his hollow eyes sickened and afraid as an appalled expression saturated his ashen face. Ashton shook his head grimly, his tanned face unusually pale.

“No,” the younger man whispered, his eyes growing damp again as a wave of guilt crashed over him, heavy enough to destroy a city. “He was going to hurt me… maybe even try to _kill_ me… so I… I pushed him down the stairs.”

“But… _Ashy_ ,” Michael said imploringly, his green eyes damp as he took in the self-loathing on the younger man’s face. “That was self-defence. There was nothing else you could have done. If you hadn’t done that, he would have killed you…” But Michael’s words trailed away as he looked at the younger man, the hairs on the back of his neck rising when he realised he could see very faintly _through_ Ashton; the outlines of the trees - stark against the morning sky - showed like spiderwebs through the younger man’s skin.

“But I died anyway,” Ashton said quietly, his fingers once more drifting to touch the bruising on his neck. “I watched him lying at the bottom of the stairs. He’d smashed his head and… and as he was bleeding, his eyes went soft again. It was like all the darkness was seeping out with the blood and… and I didn’t know what to do… so I ran.”

Ashton didn’t seem to realise that the tears were still falling but he was holding Michael’s hands like the older man was the only thing keeping him here at all.

“I made it all the way down the driveway before the shadowy figure appeared. Dad was dead inside and… and mum was still hanging in the tree… and I just wasn’t looking where I was going, Mike,” Ashton breathed, his hazel eyes brimming with grief as he held the older man’s gaze. “I ran out into the road and… and there was a truck… and I didn’t even try to move out of the way. I just… I just felt it hit me and… and then my body was on the ground but I was still _running_.”

“Where did you go?” Michael asked, his voice catching in his throat as his own tears caught up with him. Suddenly the bruising and the horrible twist of muscle around Ashton’s throat made sense; he must have broken his neck in the collision.

“I couldn’t get anywhere at all,” Ashton croaked, rubbing at his eyes absently as the tears soaked the sleeve of his red-checked flannel. “No matter how hard I ran, I always ended up right back where I’d started. The shadow had me trapped. I couldn’t leave. I can _never_ leave.”

Michael held him closer, cradling Ashton’s jaw gently between his palms as he pressed the briefest kiss to the younger man’s lips.

“But… you _are_ leaving,” he said softly, terrified of losing him but also desperately praying that maybe Ashton could finally have _peace_. “You’re flickering out of sight right now… and each time it’s getting longer, Ash. I think it’s almost time for you to go. Maybe you’re just holding on too tightly.”

“I’ve _tried_ to let go before but it never works,” the younger man whispered, so dejected and lost that even Michael couldn’t call him back now. “I… I tried to kill myself so many times after my parents were gone, Mike, but it never worked. No one could ever see me or touch me or… or hear me, even when I was screaming for them to just look… just glance _once_.”

“ _No one_?” Michael repeated brokenly, trembling as the chill of the stone wall began to settle in his bones. “Not _one_ person in twenty two years?”

Ashton’s eyes were distant as he looked at the snowmelt beneath their feet, watching the reflection of the bare branches drifting in the breeze.

“One man saw me for a few seconds,” he admitted softly. “He was driving another truck. I stepped in front of it - wondered if maybe going back to how it had ended would be enough to finish things - but… but he _saw_ me. He swerved out of the way and ended up being so injured that he had to go to hospital, and I stopped after that. I couldn’t stand having someone _else_ ’s death on my conscience. One was bad enough.”

“Oh, Ash,” Michael whispered when his hand passed through the younger man’s cheek as he became incorporeal again. “But… I don’t understand. Why can _I_ see you? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Ashton gave him a long look, staring just as hard as he had on that very first day when they’d noticed each other. He remembered the younger man’s wide-eyed gaze and his gasp of breath as stared at Michael with such terrifying longing.

“I don’t know,” Ashton said at length, his words dropping softer than ever now, like a radio that was losing its signal. “Maybe you just paid more attention than everyone else. Maybe you notice things that other people don’t want to see.”

“Like in Beetlejuice,” Michael whispered, the wonder in his heart combining with the grief to create something painfully melancholy. “‘ _Live people ignore the strange and unusual_ ’.”

Ashton’s lips twitched into the saddest smile that Michael had ever seen.

“Are you calling _me_ strange and unusual, Mike?”

“You’re no worse than I am,” Michael said with a teasing smile as the tears continued to tumble down his cheeks.

“No, I guess not,” Ashton murmured, his voice appraising. “I think… I think that’s why I dropped the mug that day but… but I could still pull you to your feet. You… you gave me energy somehow. Made me feel _alive_ again, even if it _was_ only for a short while. It’s strange.”

“Hey, I just thought of something,” Michael said suddenly, cracking a stupid joke to break the tense atmosphere that had rolled over them like fog. “This all explains why you’re never heard of Harry Potter, right? It was published in 1997.”

Ashton rolled his eyes fondly but the endearment of the action was ruined when a droplet of snowmelt tumbled from the branches overhead, splashing _through_ Ashton’s face and sending the facade rippling like the surface of a lake.

The pair sat in silence for a few moments, content to simply entwine their fingers and hold on for the short time they had left together. The sun was burning higher in the sky now but the heat of it wasn’t touching them. Ashton’s fingers were cold around Michael’s.

Michael never wanted him to let go.

“Don’t hate yourself for what happened with your dad, Ash,” the red-haired man pleaded softly. “You were just a kid. You’re… you’re _still_ a kid really. None of this was ever your fault. Just… please. Believe me.”

Ashton watched him, his lower lip jutting out unconsciously as his wet eyes sparkled in the light.

“I hate the word please,” he murmured, as he had said so many times before, but the sentence sounded habitual now. There was no heat in Ashton’s words.

“Why?” Michael asked, his head tilted to the side curiously. He had to stretch his leg out as the ache burnt in his knee and Ashton reached to soothe it gently, his fingertips resting lightly over the sore joint.

“Because, when the shadow took my dad, I begged for a really long time… but it never helped.” Ashton looked down at the fraying blue denim of Michael’s jeans, unable to meet the older man’s gaze. “It didn’t matter how many times I said ‘ _please_ ’. No one ever came to save me.”

There was nothing Michael could say to that.

He simply held the younger man’s hand and tried to wrap his head around everything he’d heard. Sadness seared through him when he realised that Ashton had been killed the year he was born but there was no doubt lingering in Michael now. The claims were so ridiculous that they could only have been the truth.

“It’s been so long now,” Ashton said tearfully, burying his head in his hands as he leant against the red-haired man’s shoulder. “Two whole _decades_. I want to… I just…”

“You’re tired,” Michael supplied, swallowing with difficulty past the lump rising in his throat. “I understand. You… you need to be at peace.”

“But I don’t know _how_ ,” Ashton said, groaning softly. “It seems impossible. I think… I think I’ll just keep fading slowly away anyway.”

“Maybe… maybe we need to get rid of everything tying you here. What if we… maybe we could burn the stuff in the attic? What about the whole damn house? Because I’ll do anything, Ash. You know I will. I don’t want to lose you - I don’t want to feel alone anymore - but my god, I want you to stop hurting a million times more.” A softer look soothed the anguish in Michael’s eyes as he reached for Ashton once more, letting his fingers hover where the younger man’s cheekbone had been before. “I’ll never forget you, Ashton Irwin. Not for as long as I live. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me too,” Ashton admitted, his hazel eyes overflowing with tears that Michael couldn’t feel. The red-haired man didn’t know how to put his tumultuous emotions into words.

“I wish I could kiss you again,” Michael whispered.

He wished he could hold Ashton too but he settled for wrapping his arms around himself, dwelling on everything they’d shared together; their bay leaf wish and first kiss, and the morning Michael slept in Ashton’s arms as the sunlight painted the world golden.

He was so glad he had had the chance to live in the same world as this beautiful creature, even if it _was_ only for a short time.

Michael could never resent that.

Some people went their whole _lives_ without ever feeling this way about another person and Michael had been lucky enough to cherish it for _months._

The silence stretched between them but there was no reason to break it.

There was nothing left to say.

The day shifted towards afternoon and, although Michael recognised dimly that he was hungry and cold, he didn’t feel any inclination to leave. He wanted to stay with Ashton until he was gone. After all of the comfort the younger man had offered him during his time in the Lake District, Michael thought he at least owed Ashton that.

“Shall we walk a bit to keep you warm?” the younger man asked softly, his fingers fluttering over Michael’s hand although of course he couldn’t feel it. “You’ve gone blue, Mike. Don’t want you freezing to death on my account.”

Michael resisted making quite a few jokes in very poor taste then but, by the wistful amusement on the younger man’s face, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“Not a _chance_ , Mikey,” Ashton chided gently. “You’re going to live to be a tiny, wizened, old man with a ridiculous beard who spends all his time looking through your grandpa’s telescope.” The amusement in Ashton’s fading eyes was quickly replaced with sincerity. “You’re going to be _happy_ , Michael. I know you are. I can feel it.”

They walked side by side back the way they had come, close enough that their arms would have been brushing if they’d truly been next to one another. Birds sang in the trees as spring hovered just out of sight but the warmth it offered seemed a long way off.

“I’m so glad I met you,” Michael said quietly. “I just wish the circumstances could have been better.”

“Y’know, I’m not sure I’d change them,” Ashton admitted, looking stunned with himself but quite certain. “You’ve made me happier than I was before I died. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

Everything was still and peaceful, until it wasn’t anymore.

There was a dull roaring sound that set the hairs on the back of Michael’s neck prickling. He stepped in front of Ashton unthinkingly, his cane still lying beside the stone wall far behind them as he searched for the source of the noise. It was menacing and constant, growing louder and louder until -

“Look out!” Ashton cried, rushing _through_ Michael to shield him as the shadowy figure crashed through the trees in front of them. It was still faceless but it vaguely resembled a human now, its chest heaving as it stalked purposefully towards them.

Michael had never seen it manifest itself like this before and, by the crackling fiery sound it made, it seemed to be burning itself up fast. Ashton froze as it neared them and Michael saw why when he recognised the face of the man in the Polaroid. This was Ashton’s father, twisted beyond all recognition.

Flickers of shadow were drifting into the air now, curling up like ash and disappearing into nothing. The figure seemed furious to realise that its time on this earth was limited and it snatched a hand back, curling its long clawed fingers into a fist before it swung at Michael’s skull.

The force of it hit him like his father’s car all over again, sending him flying into the road like a ragdoll. The tarmac slammed into his already-bleeding head and Michael’s eyes rolled with the sudden unexpected agony of it as he glimpsed the blurriness of the shadow finally burning itself to nothing, leaving behind a mousy-haired man in an olive green jumper that smiled gently before fading away forever.

Ashton was almost translucent now, his long fingers little more than cold wafts of air as he tried to stroke Michael’s cheeks. The younger man looked terrified, _appalled_ , but the softness in his frightened eyes remained when the older man managed to focus on his face.

“Love you,” Michael croaked, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he felt Ashton’s hand in the pocket of his jeans, easing his mobile out. The younger man was concentrating _hard_ as he focused on being substantial enough to dial for the emergency services.

Michael listened to Ashton asking for an ambulance and directing them to Deadman’s Rise through what felt like a fog, barely able to feel the pain now as the blood beneath his head spread out in the melting snow like a grisly halo.

“You’re gonna be okay, Mikey,” Ashton whispered, his lips brushing butterfly-soft over Michael’s blood-spattered cheekbone before he was fading once more. “I can be with mum and dad now. I’ll be fine. Just… hold on. Survive for me, okay? _Please_ ,” Ashton begged and there was nothing but love in his eyes. “Please, don’t give up. I love you too.”

“You’re… leaving?” Michael could barely keep his eyes open and he had no recollection of how long he had been lying in the road but Ashton was crying again, and the sound of sirens could be heard growing louder in the distance.

“It’s time,” Ashton breathed. “Holding him back and saving dad… it was too much… but I can feel my parents now. They’re waiting. I have to say goodbye to you.”

The regret in his voice was breathtakingly painful as he leant forwards to press a soft kiss to Michael’s forehead. It was the last kiss they would ever share.

“Do you remember the wish we made with the bay leaves, Mike?” Ashton whispered, the tears falling down like raindrops as he gazed into Michael’s cloudy green eyes. “I wished for _you_ , Michael. I just wished that you could finally be happy.”

He disappeared from sight then, like a cloud passing over the sun, and Michael knew that it was over. The younger man was gone.

Michael lay there limply in the puddles as the ambulance finally pulled to a stop a few minutes later and, when the paramedics asked him if he was alone, the tears Michael had been fighting back swelled out of him like a tidal wave.

“ _Yes_ ,” he sobbed, unable to bear the look of sympathy on their faces.

Michael had never been more alone in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Can't wait to hear what you thought.  
> I'm estimating that there's probably about 5(ish) chapters left.  
> Really hope this was okay - it's been a long time coming!


	25. ghost stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! Sorry for the short delay but this was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write and (while I'm still not thrilled with it) I think this is the best we're going to get!  
> I hope it'll answer some of your questions and that you find it interesting.  
> It felt a long time coming to me!

Michael rose from sleep slowly, the light golden behind his eyelids as he returned to wakefulness. There was an intermittent beeping noise that buzzed on the fringes of his consciousness like a clumsy bumblebee and it was this confusing sound that finally forced Michael to open his gritty eyes.

He was lying in an unfamiliar bed, the blankets tucked in neatly around his prone form as he looked blearily at the ceiling. There were strange whorls in the plaster and Michael gazed at the shapes they made for a moment, tracing leaves and constellations.

“I think he’s waking up!” a familiar voice exclaimed excitedly, far too loud for the silence. Michael winced, closing his eyes against the beginnings of a headache as he uselessly willed himself to continue floating on the strange clouds he’d found himself on. They were dissipating like dust though and Michael was returning to reality with a bang as the events leading up to this moment quickly made themselves apparent: the almost-overdose, the desertion of his friends, the emptiness he had felt when Ashton… god, _Ashton_ -

“Awake are you?” a woman asked as she bustled into the room and Michael blinked at her owlishly, his confusion and exhaustion swelling inside to make his eyes prickle with tears. “You’re in West Cumberland Hospital, Mr. Clifford. Do you remember how you got here?”

Michael remembered events backwards almost; remembered lying in the road with Ashton kneeling over him, the violence of the blow that had thrown him across the street, the tears rolling down the dead man’s cheeks as he confessed the truth after two decades.

Michael knew he’d gone pale but he forced himself to loosen his fingers on the blankets; tried to breathe calmly and adopt an expression of puzzlement that probably fooled no one at all.

“I don’t remember anything,” he said hoarsely, his voice cracking from misuse. Dimly, he wondered how long he’d been sleeping. “I remember waking up alone in the house and… nothing.”

“Well, you did hit your head very hard,” the doctor said in a softer tone, her dark eyes kind. “It’s fairly normal for someone with an injury like you suffered to feel disoriented or forgetful.” She glanced at a clipboard as she stood there and Michael’s eyes darted away for a moment, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest when he saw Calum and Luke sitting by the window, their faces exhausted and worried as they gazed back.

“You’ve been unconscious for around four hours now, Mr. Clifford,” the doctor said, bringing his attention back to her with practiced ease. He felt a jolt of shock that it had been such a short time. He felt like Ashton had left him years ago already, and he couldn't understand how Calum and Luke were still here, when they should have been halfway to London by now. “You’ll still feel drowsy and unwell for a little while yet which is normal but you’ll be pleased to know that your CT scan results were very promising. There was no bleeding or swelling on the brain, and it looks as though you’re only suffering with a concussion although we’ll keep you in for observation. You were very lucky.”

Michael nodded gratefully but his pale face crumpled when his headache throbbed threateningly and he quickly stopped. The doctor gave him another reassuring smile as she tucked the clipboard back under her arm.

“You’ll feel right as rain in no time at all,” she said cheerfully before her expression clouded over a little. “I’m obligated to tell you that there are some police officers waiting for a chance to speak to you once you’re feeling a little more awake. I’ll pass on the fact that you’ve told me you don’t remember anything but they have to question you. The circumstances of your injury seem to indicate that you were attacked so you’ll understand why it's necessary that they pay you a visit. They’re only doing their job.”

“Of course,” Michael mumbled, letting his eyes slide shut again. He’d learnt his lesson this time and would not be nodding for the foreseeable future. “Thank you.”

“That’s quite alright,” the doctor said, giving him a kinder smile once more. “Your next of kin are travelling up from London to visit you, so I’ve been told. You should expect them tomorrow morning at some point, as I imagine visiting hours will long be over by the time they arrive tonight.” She wrongly assumed that his face had suddenly paled due to exhaustion. “Get some rest, Mr. Clifford. If you need any pain relief, ring the bell and a nurse will be in to see you.”

There was silence in the room for almost a minute before he heard the scraping of chairs as Luke and Calum moved closer to him. Michael opened his eyes but he didn’t speak, content to simply watch them as the three sat together quietly. Calum was holding Luke’s hand and Michael felt something flutter in his chest at the sight of it.

“Sorry about this,” he said quietly, gesturing to his bandaged head with a grazed, trembling flutter of his fingers. Luke’s blue eyes filled rapidly with tears and Calum sighed slowly, like all of the air was seeping out of him.

“I thought I told you _not_ to do anything stupid, Mikey,” the dark-haired man said at last, his eyelashes spiky with his own tears as he tried (and failed) to glare at his oldest best friend. “Now you’ve done some dumb shit over the last few months but -” He faltered, glancing towards the open doorway before he moved closer to angrily hiss: “- but lying to the _doctor_? That’s stupid, even for you!” Calum’s eyes flashed when Michael opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t you dare deny it, Mike! I’ve known you since we were five! You’ve always been a shit liar.”

Michael’s lips twitched a little despite himself and, almost as though he couldn’t help himself, Calum’s dimples creased his cheeks.

“You’re such a dick, Mikey,” the younger man said and, abruptly, the tears were rolling down his cheeks again. “You scared me so fucking bad. Don’t ever do that again, okay?! Not ever.”

Michael looked between the two of them, utterly lost.

“I don’t know why you two even came,” he muttered, rubbing his temples in an effort to relieve the headache before a hiss escaped him when he realised he had a black eye. “All I’ve done is… is _hurt_ you both… ever since we moved here. Why are you here now? What did I do to deserve this?”

Luke swallowed audibly, leaning forwards to settle his warm fingers gently on Michael’s bruised wrist.

“We hurt you too, Mike,” the blond man said tearfully. “We’ve all hurt each other… so, _so_ badly… and I can’t understand why. That's why I came to see you before I went back to London. I have to make this right again! We were always so close before -”

“ _Best friends_ ,” Calum interjected earnestly, his chocolate brown eyes so caring and sad that - for just a moment - it reminded Michael of the drive up to the Lake District in the first place, when he’d looked at Michael so kindly in the rear view mirror that the red-haired man had almost broken down in tears.

“I… I want to tell you what happened but…” Suddenly, it was all Michael could do to keep the secret; it roiled inside him like a storm and he pushed himself achingly into a sitting position, gripping the rails on either side of his bed as he leant towards his friends. “You’ll think I’m crazy,” he breathed, his heart pounding too fast in his chest. He wanted to look away but this was too important. “You’ll think I’m mad and I _can’t_ lose you both again. I can’t.”

Luke and Calum were watching him with knowing eyes, no trace of scorn or disapproval distorting their expressions. Michael couldn’t understand why they weren’t doubting him. He knew it must look like he’d finally lost it. His injuries made no sense and he’d _clearly_ been attacked but there was an old fear in him gnawing away, setting his nerves alight with anxiety.

Calum reached to grip his hand and Luke’s teeth sank nervously into his lower lip as he eased his phone out of his pocket.

“How about I give you some security?” the blond man asked hesitantly. “I’ll show you something _I_ know now… and then you can tell us what you found out after, yeah?”

Michael’s trembling fingers settled on the blankets and he sought out Calum’s gaze for a moment, relishing in the fact that there was no hatred or despair in those dark eyes anymore; only curiosity and a fond sort of sadness that seemed like it would never fade.

“We _believe_ you,” Calum whispered, before Michael could even speak, and it lit a fire in his chest that could only be hope.

“While… while you were sleeping,” Luke began hesitantly, his voice trailing away for a few moments as he typed something into his phone. “Well… we found him, Mikey. We found Ashton.”

Michael’s heart clenched painfully in his chest when Luke turned his phone towards the hospital bed, displaying a webpage aptly named ‘Find A Grave’. The words blurred before his eyes as tears prickled and Calum clambered carefully onto the bed beside him, easing his arm around Michael’s aching shoulders.

“There’s only been one Ashton in Wasdale Head for as long as the citizens have been recorded and… and I think this is him.” Luke’s voice was almost apologetic as he began to read from the screen again, his pale face determined, even as his bottom lip wobbled a little at the emotion radiating from Michael. “His full name was Ashton Fletcher Irwin. He was born in -”

“1975,” the red-haired man breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And he died in -”

“1995,” Luke finished, his expression sombre as he reached to squeeze Michael’s ankle comfortingly. “He’s buried in Saint Olaf’s Churchyard in Wasdale Head. I… I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, Mike. It just… it sounded too impossible… too frightening... but it was all true, wasn’t it? I can see that now.”

Calum nodded in agreement.

“We were talking about it earlier,” the dark-haired man added gently. “Like that time Luke got attacked in the kitchen, remember? The police couldn’t find anything but… but _someone_ had to have hurt him.” Calum looked suddenly wary as he shot Michael a sideways glance. “Was _that_ Ashton?”

Michael bristled, his cheeks heating with something that might have become anger if he could summon enough energy to feed the flame of it.

“No,” the oldest man said with a heaviness that hadn’t existed before that morning. “No, it was his father.”

“Oh," Luke murmured. There was silence for a long moment before: "That’s why I didn’t want to believe in Ashton, you know. Because if I believed in him, it made the shadowy figure I saw real… and I wasn’t sure I could live with the reality of that.” Luke's expression was downcast as he picked idly at a loose thread on the blanket. “I'm sorry, Mikey."

Michael swallowed past the lump rising in his throat, feeling so unbearably old that it was almost too much effort to put his thoughts into words anymore.

“You two deserve to know what happened but… I still don’t know how to explain it. I don’t even know where to _start_.”

Calum gave him a watery smile, his dimples creasing his cheeks.

“How about the beginning?” Luke asked with a teasing lilt to his voice. Michael snorted, rolling his eyes fondly.

“You cheek,” he muttered but something had calmed in him as he inhaled shakily. “Fine… but just remember, you asked for it.”

Michael told them about meeting Ashton on that very first morning; described the way the truck had gone right through the boy and the reality of The House In The Forest. He told them the origin of the noose and the shadowy figure that lived in the house, slowly corrupting everything inside it; he told them how it had torn Ashton’s family apart and done its best to destroy them too.

He confessed his nightmares and those stolen moments with Ashton when no one else was around, and the way the Irwin family had reached its horrible end. He told them about the strange sickness inside him that grew as his addiction did; the hatred and the fear, and the reason he had instinctively tried to tear everyone else apart to distract himself from his own self-destruction.

As Michael shakily volunteered this information, Calum and Luke began to chip in too, murmuring quiet fears and realisations with wide eyes as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Luke recalled the ill-omened day when the three of them had gone searching for the house that didn’t exist when he had caught a glimpse of someone standing in the trees and Calum’s eyes widened when he remembered the conversation with John Mclean when he had described the ‘haunted house’ they had moved into.

The sky outside was darkening by the time the revelations came to an end but, despite the bone-deep ache and the too-fast beating of his heart, Michael felt relief coursing through him at the trust he could see reflected back at him in his best friends’ eyes.

“There’s one more thing,” the red-haired man said softly in the half-light. His hair wasn’t really crimson anymore; instead it was mostly a faded brown that made his green eyes glow again, even just a little.

“What is it, Mikey bear?” Calum murmured as Luke leaned closer to pat the older man’s hand. Luke was sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed now, all three of them cramped together like they used to be during sleepovers when they’d told ghost stories… but the ghosts were real now and all they had left was each other.

“I… I was - I _am_ \- in love with Ashton… and I never felt that way about either of you two, no matter what it might have looked like.” Michael felt stronger as the words left him, even despite the bruise-like circles under his sore eyes and the continued trembling of his grazed knuckles. “You two are my brothers. You will _always_ be my brothers. That’s never going to change again.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Calum said softly and Luke smiled, his blue eyes crinkling.

“If some weird murderous ghost couldn’t tear us apart then nothing will,” the blond man grinned but, below his forced joviality, there was something more sincere in his face. “You’re with us to the end, Mikey. Nothing can change that.”

It felt like nothing had changed at all for a moment; felt like those long visiting hours in the hospital after the car accident that had almost ruined Michael’s life. He was so glad Calum and Luke were here with him, finally believing him after everything they’d suffered through together.

It meant more than he could ever put into words to feel the three of them slotting back comfortably together again… but their blind faith wouldn’t be enough forever. Eventually their doubts might return, creeping in as insidious as the shadowy figure, and Michael knew that there was only one way to solve that: he needed concrete proof of what had happened up in the house, both for them and for himself.

He wouldn’t rest until this was finally over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :)  
> I really hope you enjoyed it and I can't wait to hear what you think!  
> It's looking like there'll be about 3 chapters left if I can manage to stick to the plan - hopefully you're all excited to read it!


	26. love and light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for you all to read the end that I've updated already!  
> Fingers crossed you enjoy this!  
> Also if you're bored please have a look at my first author's note for this story - I've added links to my CWL Spotify playlist and Pinterest board!

When Michael woke up the next morning, he was alone again.

Despite the fact that spring was fast approaching, the warmer climes felt a long way off today. The world outside was grey and damp, the raindrops sliding down the window like tears. That same wildness that had first threatened Michael on the long drive up to Cumbria was still present in the desolation of the landscape outside but it didn’t frighten him anymore. He took solace in it instead, because the cyclical nature of his emotions now meant that this chapter of his life was almost over.

Soon, he would not have to endure it any longer.

“Hey, Mikey,” Calum said as he appeared behind the curtain. Michael had been moved onto the ward now that he was healing so well, and the quiet hubbub of the patients and staff through the thin layer of material reminded him that the rest of the world was still waiting beyond the frightening green world he had found himself in so many months before.

The world would continue to turn no matter what and life would carry on. Michael understood that now.

“I brought you coffee,” Calum said as he raised a takeout cup proudly before hesitating. “Wait… are you _allowed_ coffee?”

“Not sure,” Michael said, making grabby hands for it. “But I don’t care. Thank you for bringing me caffeine. I owe you.”

Calum’s chocolate brown eyes were soft as he passed his oldest best friend the drink carefully.

“No, you don’t,” he said fondly as he settled down wearily into the plastic chair beside Michael’s bed. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

Michael’s cheeks heated and he looked away towards the muted light streaming through the mint green curtains. The coffee was hot on his tongue, warming him from the inside out, and he hummed contentedly as Calum toed his trainers off, putting his feet up on the bed. They’d probably get told off if one of the nurses came to check on him but the closeness made it worth it right now; Michael craved the human contact.

“Where’s Luke?” he asked once he’d had his fill of the coffee. Calum sighed softly, stretching out in the uncomfortable plastic chair as he rubbed at his tired face.

“He’s gone to see his mum, remember? We weren’t even halfway there when we heard that you were hurt so of course we came back here first.” Calum looked more tired than Michael had ever seen him. “Luke’s gone back down south now but… I figure maybe you need me more than he does. He’s never listened to sense where his family are concerned.”

“And I’ve never listened to sense at all,” Michael said dryly, raising an eyebrow when Calum let out a surprised snort of laughter. “Isn’t that what you’re implying?”

“Obviously,” Calum grinned before he sobered. “You’re going back there, aren’t you? To the house…” When Michael stayed silent, something in the dark-haired man’s face seemed to cave in on itself. “It’s too dangerous to go there alone, Mikey. I’m not losing you again.”

“It will be safer now, I think,” Michael said softly as stared down at the myriad of cuts decorating his hands. “The darkness burnt itself up after I got hurt… and besides, there’s still some things I’m not willing to leave behind.” Michael saw the uncertainty in his best friend’s eyes and his heart ached in his chest. “I don’t think we’ll be in any danger, Cal,” he said reassuringly.

“Better safe than sorry,” Calum muttered darkly before something softened in his eyes. “I’m almost glad Luke’s not coming back too. At least that way I won’t have to worry about _both_ of you.”

A sliver of hurt rippled through Michael as he thought about the fact that Luke had left him again and Calum interpreted it easily as he reached to take the older man’s hand.

“Luke was sorry to leave without saying anything but… he didn’t want to say goodbye to you,” the dark-haired man admitted quietly. “Said you’d probably had enough goodbyes to last a lifetime.”

“Think he was right,” Michael murmured as he settled back down on the pillows again, a sad sigh escaping him. “Are you and Luke okay again, Cal? After everything that happened?”

Calum hesitated, his lips quirking into something that was _almost_ a half-smile.

“Maybe eventually,” he said in a tired sort of voice. “If we both keep trying… yeah, I think we probably will.” Calum bit his lip, avoiding eye contact as he rubbed absently at a spilt drop of coffee on his jeans. “It would just be nice not to _have_ to try, y’know?”

“If things could just be easy?” Michael clarified as a heavy sigh escaped Calum. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

The dark-haired man’s phone chimed and he reached for it wearily, his forehead creasing into a slight frown as he read the text message.

“Luke?” Michael guessed but Calum shook his head slowly.

“Your mum,” he replied after a long moment. “Your parents are on their way upstairs. You want me to stay?”

“No, it’s okay,” Michael said firmly, wishing he was as brave as he sounded. “This is something I have to do alone.”

He did not have long to wait.

His parents hadn’t changed very much in the time since he’d been gone; the same clothes and greying temples, the same tired eyes that they now shared with their only son.

There was a moment of fragility when the three found themselves together again, his parents freezing as though ensnared in a spider web under the weight of Michael’s gaze.

“Morning,” the youngest Clifford said evenly. “How was the drive?”

“Far too long,” Karen said tearfully as she crossed the space between them, reaching to draw him into a gentle hug. The familiar smell of her perfume surrounded him and Michael’s eyes stung with tears as he clung to her, unwilling to let go. “Mikey bear, I’ve been so _worried_.”

“Stop babying him,” Daryl snapped from where he was hovering uncomfortably by the foot of the bed. His green eyes flickered around as he took in the various monitors and the unhealthy pallor of his son’s sore face, and the déjà vu Michael felt was reflected back at him in his father’s eyes as they both remembered those long weeks after the car accident.

Karen drew back a little when Daryl stepped closer but it didn’t scare Michael anymore. He held his father’s gaze without defiance; without belligerence or rage. Daryl looked smaller these days, like the poison he carried inside was beginning to take its toll. None of his father’s hatred touched Michael anymore; not after the horrible atmosphere of the house.

Daryl's venom ran off Michael as harmlessly as water.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asked quietly. “Aren’t you tired of treating everybody in your life like dirt? It’s why your own father couldn’t stand you. Do you really want to push your son away too?”

Daryl reeled back like Michael had slapped him, seemingly unnerved by the fact that his son was no longer afraid of him.

“I just drove your mother halfway up the country to visit you, you ungrateful little _wretch_.” He looked as though he wanted to say something ruder but had suddenly become aware that they were only separated from everyone else by a thin curtain. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

Daryl stormed out, heading in the vague direction of the cafeteria, and Michael watched him leave placidly, his expression mild. Karen relaxed when her husband was gone, settling down into the chair Calum had vacated and reaching for her son’s hand.

A more comfortable silence grew between them, stretching like rolling green meadows and the cotton wool clouds drifting by overhead.

“I found your Book Of Shadows,” Michael said eventually, a small smile twitching his lips when Karen blushed. “That was a lovely thing to do, mum. Thank you.”

“I just wanted to give you something positive to focus on,” she said tenderly. “I know how worried you were about leaving, even after talking it all over with Eve, and if that could help even a little bit, it was worth parting with it.”

“I think… once I come back down south again… well, maybe I’ll start my own.” Michael’s thoughts wandered as he considered this, already planning what he would include: the different meanings of each herb, crystal grids, the contents for different spell jars… and maybe even the bay leaf spell.

His heart melted a little in his chest as he remembered their wishes.

They had both wished that the other would finally have the chance to be happy and, as that realisation made itself apparent, he remembered again the moment when Ashton’s expression had softened as he said goodbye; the brightening of the younger man’s hazel eyes as he gazed at something that Michael couldn’t see.

His parents had been waiting for Ashton, hovering just out of sight, the way they should have been all along: bright and kind, full of love and light, and shining like the sun.

“I think starting your own Book Of Shadows sounds like a brilliant idea,” Karen said warmly but Michael could see the niggling doubt in her eyes and he thought he knew what had caused it. “Are you going back up there first?” she asked as a note of wariness entered her tone. "Before you come back home?"

Michael had told her none of the fearful events that had unfolded up on Deadman’s Rise but she seemed to sense it all the same. Her fingers entwined more tightly with his and she brought his hand up to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“There’s something I need to do,” Michael said. “But I’ll come back to London once it’s all over. I promise.”

Karen didn’t push him for more information; didn’t chastise him for potentially putting himself in danger or try to force the truth out of him. It wasn’t in her nature to be cruel and that was the reason he found her so easy to be close to.

He knew he would tell her the whole truth one day – if anyone believed him unequivocally, it would be her – but he wasn’t ready yet. Right now, he was still working through it himself.

“You’ve grown so much in the months since you left,” Karen murmured, cupping his cheek gently as he rested against her palm, his bruised face softening with love. “I can see it now. How did I miss it before?”

“I’m not sure anyone else saw either,” he murmured, turning his head to press a chaste kiss to her palm. “I’ve missed you, mum. So, _so_ much.”

Her pale face split into a beautiful smile as she leant forwards to draw him into another hug. It was so lovely to have her close again - when Michael felt calm and _sane_ again (and honestly, he’d forgotten how good it felt) – that a bubble of relieved laughter escaped him as she cuddled him closer, peppering his face with kisses until he was giggling and trying to wriggle away.

“I love you,” she whispered, thumbing the dampness from his bruised cheeks. “I trust you to keep yourself safe. Just… make sure you come back to me, Mikey bear... okay? When you’re ready.”

Michael blinked back the tears that had been welling in his eyes, unsure whether they were of relief or loss.

“I love you too.” He gave her a watery smile that she returned broadly. “I’ll come home to you again, mum,” he murmured, clinging to her once more as she pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. “I promise.”

She took him once more into her arms and he had the distinct sensation of his broken heart healing in his chest.

He knew in that moment that, no matter what happened from that moment on, he was finally back on the road to being okay.

For the first time since the car accident, Michael felt like he could breathe easily again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
> Can't wait to hear what you thought :)


	27. the world woke up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the penultimate chapter is finally here. It still doesn't feel real that this story is out there now for everyone to read and yet there's only one chapter left after today!  
> I'm sorry for the delay in uploading. It hasn't been an easy week and I've lost someone in my life who meant a lot to me which I think might be clear in this chapter.  
> Hopefully you'll enjoy it!  
> 

Calum had been smoking like a chimney from the moment he led Michael out of the hospital upon his discharge. The morning was damp with dew but the shards of blue sky visible between the wisps of cloud hinted at a brighter afternoon. Both of them were exhausted as they shuffled out of the hospital but Michael thought that, even despite what he had suffered through himself, Calum somehow looked even worse for wear.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Michael stated and it wasn’t a question. The dark-haired man looked at him with a half-smile, cigarette almost burnt down to the filter as he rummaged around in the pocket of his denim jacket for his car keys. Calum didn’t comment and Michael’s curiosity stirred. “Where’ve you been staying while I was in the hospital?”

Calum unlocked the car, taking a final deep drag of his cigarette before he stamped it out under his boot.

“Chase Hotel,” he said, shrugging tiredly as he slipped into the seat with a cough. “Little Georgian place just off the A595. Wasn’t very far away.”

“Nice?” Michael asked as he strapped his seat belt in, trying to avoid catching sight of his bruised face in the wing mirror. Calum jerked his shoulder up in a half-shrug, more focused on manoeuvring his car out of the tight parking space he’d secured that morning.

“It was close to you,” he said distractedly as he turned the car onto Homewood Road. “That was all that mattered.”

Michael fell quiet as Calum began what he assumed was the considerable drive back towards Wasdale Head. It seemed that no more words were necessary and the pair of them sank into a comfortable silence beneath the rock music playing quietly on the radio as the world woke up around them.

Michael’s head was still tender but the bandages had been removed now and the stitches were easy enough to forget about under the fog of medication. Calum was looking after his painkillers for him; Michael had pressed them wordlessly into his hands upon leaving the hospital and – despite the flicker of concern and relief mingling on the tanned man’s face – Calum hadn’t questioned him. That trust meant more than Michael could put into words.

“You’re definitely sure about wanting to go back to the house?” Calum asked, breaking the silence a little while later as they drove through Whitehaven in the early morning traffic. Michael looked away from where he had been watching the passing landscape with a tired sort of curiosity. Calum was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had whitened but there was something resigned in his face now that made him look years older.

Michael thought that moving to Deadman’s Rise had aged all of them in ways none of them could ever have imagined.

“I need to do this,” Michael answered simply. “But you don’t, Cal. You can just drop me off and… I’ll make my own way back. You’ve already done more than you need to.”

“Don’t be silly,” Calum said dismissively, his eyes not flickering from the damp road even once. “I’m hardly going to leave now, am I? Not when it’s so close to this all being over. I want to _support_ you.”

Michael knew this was true up to a point; Calum had always cared about him and wanted him to succeed but Michael had a feeling that maybe this journey was for the dark-haired man too. Maybe this was the last puzzle piece Calum needed that would enable him to believe Michael after everything they’d been through together.

It ached a little that there was still doubt even now but the older man knew that shouldn’t surprise him. It made sense that Luke believed because he had been unlucky enough to encounter the shadowy figure in the kitchen; to spy Ashton that day in the forest. Calum had had none of those experiences and a betrayal had been thrown into the bargain too; it only made sense that he would be craving concrete proof now.

For the first time, Michael began to worry that perhaps gaining Calum’s full trust wouldn’t be possible. After all, he’d witnessed the shadowy figure burning itself away into nothing with his own eyes… and Ashton had disappeared too, fading from sight with his parents already gone from this world.

What if Michael dragged Calum the whole way there and there was nothing to show for it?

Maybe there was nothing Michael could do to convince his oldest best friend at all.

God, he could barely convince _himself_ over the last few days.

The events that had unfolded up at the house had been like a bad dream and, the closer they came to returning now, the more unreal everything felt.

Maybe Michael really _had_ been going mad and now his sanity was returning to him, flooding back in like the tide returning to the coast. Maybe none of it had ever happened at all.

“Where are we going?” Michael asked when Calum turned onto Preston Street but the dark-haired man simply smiled sadly as he steered them into the Asda Supermarket nearby.

“There’s some supplies we need to get before we leave Whitehaven,” Calum replied mysteriously.

His words didn’t make sense until he led Michael to the area at the front of the shop containing various bouquets of flowers. Michael was perplexed for all of three seconds before he remembered Luke’s solemn face as he detailed where Ashton was buried and, quite jarringly, the pieces fell into place and a tear slipped down Michael’s cheek.

“Thank you for being so thoughtful, Cal,” he said softly and the dark-haired man smiled, squeezing his friend’s shoulder in comfort.

“Anything for you, Mikey bear.”

Michael stood there in silence for a long time, his tired eyes raking over the bouquets as he tried to make a decision. At last, a frustrated sigh escaped him and his shoulders slumped with disappointment. Calum slipped closer, one arm winding gently around the older man’s waist.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, his cheek resting against Michael’s messy hair as they stood together. “You seem upset. Should I not have planned this?”

“No, it… it’s perfect,” Michael said despairingly, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. “I just… I want to get flowers that actually _mean_ something.” He bit his lip, desperately trying to remember the section detailing flower meanings in his mum’s Book Of Shadows. “Ash is… he’s so _important_. I want this to be special.”

“What about lilies?” Calum suggested quietly as he pointed to a bunch nearby. “People usually get lilies for graves, don’t they?”

Michael frowned as he followed his best friend’s gaze, feeling something troubled unravel inside him. He knew Calum was probably right about the lilies – they symbolised restored innocence after death – but something about it didn’t sit quite right with Michael. It just didn’t feel like _Ashton_ … who had always felt so very alive.

“I’ve got it,” Michael breathed, his expression brightening as his eyes settled on an unusual bouquet nearby, the red chrysanthemum blooms and the sunshine yellow of the daffodils vibrant as he reached for them.

“Those are pretty,” Calum said with mild surprise, a soft smile curving his lips. “Do they mean something special?”

“Yeah,” Michael murmured, holding the flowers close as his green eyes became suspiciously damp although Calum was kind enough not to call him out on it. The older man stroked the petals gently as he recalled their meaning.

Chrysanthemum flowers symbolised optimism, joy, and long life, and the addition of red petals conveyed love too which Michael felt to his core. The daffodils were for rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life.

Michael thought they were quite fitting for Ashton.

“They mean life,” he said softly, probably hugely simplifying it as Calum sighed gently beside him. “Because I’ll remember Ashton alive.”

The picturesque drive from Whitehaven to the valley of Wasdale was completed in silence.

It was a remote and beautiful place and, as Calum parked beneath an old beech tree in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, Michael felt a pang that they would probably never get a chance to explore it again after today. There were so many remarkable places hidden here that it felt suddenly ridiculous that he’d never tried to visit more of them before.

The River Irt cut through the valley and, from the brief local knowledge Michael had gathered during his time in the Barn Door Shop, he knew it was winding back towards its estuary at Ravenglass.

“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” Michael said quietly, inhaling the crisp scent of approaching spring as a gentle breeze stirred the long grass growing beside the road. A bleating sound caught his attention and Michael turned towards it, smiling a little as he noticed several lively looking sheep chewing grass behind a low stone wall nearby.

The meadows behind them were covered in purple heather as they stretched away towards the Fells and something in Michael felt like coming home for a moment as he gazed out at the rocky peaks stretching into the sky: Yewbarrow, Kirk Fell, the Great Gable, Illgill Head, Scafell Pike, and many more.

Even after everything that had happened, it remained such a breath-taking, wonderful landscape. Michael still thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“So where _is_ the church?” he asked curiously as he wrapped one arm around himself, wishing he had brought a thicker jacket. “Is it close to here?”

“Sort of,” Calum said with a half-shrug. “It’s so far on the outskirts of the hamlet that I figured it was probably easier to just park here instead. I heard there’s a trail somewhere near Wastwater that should lead us right past Saint Olaf’s and it should be a nice walk if you’re feeling up to it. Don’t say I never learnt anything useful in my time as a ranger, huh?”

“Never,” Michael said dryly. “A walk sounds good though. My sciatica isn’t awful right now and I could do with stretching my legs after days in a hospital bed.”

“Let’s go then,” Calum said, taking the flowers from Michael so that his best friend could concentrate on not slipping in the mud and jarring his back again. “Follow me.”

Michael’s thoughts wandered as they walked and, once again, he lapsed into silence. It seemed hard for him to concentrate today, surrounded by so much beautiful scenery after days in the hospital. Michael felt almost as though he was seeing the Lake District with new eyes after being confronted by his parents once more.

He looked at the flowers in Calum’s hand and his heart swelled in his chest a little. It didn’t seem right that Ashton was gone; that his life had been stolen from him and yet he hadn’t even been granted the peace he deserved until decades later.

At least Michael’s grandpa hadn’t suffered for so long, with nothing but pain and loss for company. At least his loneliness hadn’t consumed him as the end approached.

Another tear rolled down his cheek and Michael’s sigh was little louder than the breeze stirring the flowers nearby.

How strange grief was… that the deeper your affection for someone, the harder you grieved for them afterwards.

Maybe that was fair enough though.

Maybe that was just love.

Slowly, Michael became aware that Calum was guiding him with a hand on his arm, leading him over the slopes and through cattle gates with a practiced patience. The dark-haired man was whistling softly under his breath and the sound reminded Michael of early mornings back at the house for a moment; of the birds waking with the sun and stretching their wings in preparation for flight.

“Here we are,” Calum murmured, gesturing with the bouquet of flowers towards a grove of trees rising from the hillside nearby. The building behind it was sheltered by their trunks and outspread branches but Michael could just make out the low building with its slate roof protecting the wooden door.

The air felt still and old when they stepped through the treeline, and Michael took the flowers from Calum wordlessly as his eyes drifted towards the path leading to the graveyard. The dark-haired man gave his hand a gentle squeeze before he stepped back, leaving Michael to walk forwards alone; Calum fortunately seemed to instinctively know that Michael needed privacy for this.

“I’ll wait for you by the gate,” the younger man said softly, dimples creasing his cheeks faintly when Michael nodded his thanks. “Take as long as you need, Mike.”

He could feel Calum’s eyes on his back as he skirted round the tiny church but the sensation left him when he was out of sight and Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. The ground was dappled with shadows as he carried on but there was something peaceful about the churchyard that made Michael relax when he stepped into it.

“Where are you, Ash?” he murmured, the bouquet’s wrapping rustling as he held it closer, almost like it would lend him strength. He felt sad as he moved between the graves but, in the end, it was easy to find.

Ashton rested on the northern edge of the cemetery, in the shade of an elder tree which seemed fitting with what Michael had read of folklore. Elder trees were known to be associated with witches and it felt almost as though Ashton’s mother was here, looking over him even now.

His was one of the only graves without fresh flowers and it made Michael’s pulse quicken as he stepped closer. For a moment, he simply stood there with his head bowed, unsure of what to say.

“Hello,” he said lamely before giving a weak snort. “Sorry, I’m really bad at this.”

Michael knelt down carefully, wincing a little as his left leg throbbed dully, his sciatica protesting the movement.

“Hey, Ash,” he said in a softer voice, carefully arranging the flowers against the weathered stone of Ashton’s grave. “This is a bit strange, isn’t it? Feels sort of final.” He reached out to rest his palm against the tombstone but faltered, his fingertips barely brushing it as his hand fell back down to his side again.

“I’m sorry it ended like this,” Michael whispered, a lump rising in his throat. “I wish I could’ve found a way to bring you back but… but you were already gone, weren’t you? I guess I should just be grateful that I got to meet you at all. I mean, I fell in _love_ with you. I’ll _always_ love you… and you loved me too, didn’t you? What more could I ask of you than that?”

Michael’s trembling hand fell to the earth beneath him and he pressed his palm to it, flattening the grass as he imagined – for just a moment – that there was nothing separating them: not earth or worms; no coffin or burial shroud; no life or death… just Michael and Ashton again, the way it should have been.

“I wish we could’ve had more time,” he breathed past the tears boiling over down his cheeks. He dried his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, a sharp pain stirring through him when he read the inscription on the stone beneath Ashton’s name:

 

**_I will sleep in peace, until you come to me._ **

 

“Oh god, Ash,” Michael croaked as the sobs tore out of him. Both of his hands were pressed to the packed earth now, where Ashton slept beneath the soil. “I love you. I’ve _never_ loved anyone like this before. I never will again.”

Michael looked up, towards the glimmers of blue sky through the trees. A chrysalis swayed from a twig overhead and he thought of the symbolism for a moment; thought of the caterpillar inside believing the world was over right before it became a butterfly.

He thought of Ashton and grandpa Jack, and the way losing someone from your life didn’t mean losing the love you felt for them. He looked down at the flowers lying on the grave and felt the conviction flaring through him like flames.

He was always meant to come here; always meant to meet Ashton and fall for him like this. The rightness of it had settled in Michael’s bones as he pushed himself painfully to his feet, his fingertips brushing the edge of the tombstone the way he’d combed the younger man’s hair back gently just a few days previously.

“I’ll come back one day,” Michael said quietly, feeling strangely numb now that all of his tears had left him. “But you’re not alone anymore, are you? You’re with your parents now. You’ll never be lonely again.”

With one last miserable look at the aged stone, Michael turned and walked away, heading back the way he had come.

He was glad Calum had brought him here. It had felt like he was saying goodbye not just to Ashton but to Jack too.

Michael had always harboured resentment at the perceived abandonment of his grandpa but he realised now that there was never anything anyone could have done to change it.

Fate had claimed Jack Clifford for its own and taken him long before Michael was ready, just like it had taken Ashton… but Michael was finally ready to say goodbye now; to Jack in the way he never could before, and to Ashton in the way he had always deserved… with _love_.

Calum drew him into a tight hug when Michael limped back over to him, taking in the older man’s tear-streaked cheeks and muddy hands. There was no one else around and Michael was grateful for that as Calum rubbed his back gently, rocking the two of them slowly beneath the trees as he held his oldest best friend close.

“Ready to go?” Calum asked after a few minutes and Michael nodded wordlessly, gripping his hand tightly as they made their slow return to the car.

The drive back through the valley to Wasdale Head didn’t take long at all and it was still breathtakingly beautiful, even now. The pair exchanged looks as the Fells opened up around them and the sun finally burnt through the clouds, and Michael saw the hopeless longing saturating Calum’s face as his dark eyes raked over the landscape.

“I’m so sorry for how things turned out,” Michael muttered, his voice still croaky from crying so much earlier. “I know how much you wanted to be a ranger.”

Calum reached over to squeeze his hand but he didn’t tear his gaze away from their surroundings.

“I think I’ll still be a ranger somehow,” the dark-haired man said softly, his dimples appearing briefly as his eyes turned faraway. “Just… maybe not here. I’ll find somewhere without these bad memories.”

“Then I’m glad,” Michael said seriously, his eyelashes still spiky with tears but his expression fiercely determined. “I know you’re going to be fantastic, Cal. You just have to be given a chance.”

The déjà vu Michael could feel when Calum parked the car outside the Barn Door Shop was almost stifling but he felt no fear now… only weariness and the hope for a quieter life.

“I… I don’t know about you but… I don’t really want to sleep in that house again,” Calum said and, until that moment, Michael hadn’t realised he’d been thinking the exact same thing. “How about we book in to stay at the Inn tonight, yeah? We can get our meals there too. Plus I need to remember to deliver Luke’s resignation letter to the Santon Bridge Inn. It makes more sense if we’re down in the hamlet.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Michael said with a weak smile, unbuckling his seatbelt as he scratched carefully under his eye, trying to avoid the dark bruising there. “You gonna post the letter after lunch?”

“Probably,” Calum decided as he climbed out of the car, Michael stiffly following suit. “It’s a long, _long_ walk and I don’t have Luke’s bike handy so we may as well drive down later after we’ve checked in to the Inn.” The circles under Calum’s eyes looked like bruises but he managed a weary smile as he eased the crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting up and wandering away as he locked the car.

“You coming for a walk, Mike?” Calum called over his shoulder, his words muffled around the cigarette. Michael shrugged, shaking his head.

“You’re alright,” the older man said, smiling a little. “Reckon I’ll just wander round here a bit. Maybe go and see Joanne. Need to tell her we’re leaving anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Calum said but Michael had already left, crossing the quiet street and slipping between the bollards before he let himself into the shop. The bell above the door chimed and Joanne appeared, her expression of calm professionalism quickly melting into concern and fondness.

“Oh, Mike, honey!” she gasped upon seeing the state of his sore face, her worry growing when she took in the stitches under his hair and the mud caked under his fingernails. “What _happened_ to you?”

Michael just took her hand gently when she reached for him, a watery smile curving his lips.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he said softly, avoiding the question. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to work a notice period. Things have been… quite difficult recently. I feel awful for messing you around like this.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Mike,” Joanne said gently, her eyes so understanding that Michael thought perhaps he _hadn’t_ quite cried himself out yet after all.

Her palm came to rest on his cheek gently, tilting his face this way and that as she took in the various injuries ruining his pale skin.

“I know you haven’t been happy living here in a long time,” Joanne said gently. “It’s your time to leave. That’s all there is to it.” She softened, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “Are you going back to the house for one last night?”

Michael shivered before he could stop himself and the way her eyes flashed to his face then was almost _knowing_.

“No,” he said firmly, thinking of the flowers he’d left in the graveyard and the noose of ivy dangling outside his window. “No, we won’t.”

Joanne didn’t press him for details but her smile was sad as she patted his bruised cheek gently.

“It was good to see you again, Mike,” she said kindly and he had to swallow past the lump in his throat as he drew her into a warm hug. She’d done so much for him and he would never be able to thank her enough for that.

Michael was so glad he’d got the chance to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far and for taking the time out of your lives to leave me such helpful, wonderful feedback.  
> I'm so grateful to all of you.  
> Just one chapter to go after this...


	28. his dying day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the last chapter!  
> I hope everyone enjoys it :)  
> Here goes nothing...

Michael woke to the smell of bacon and the warmth of sunshine on his skin. The window had been pushed open wide to let the fresh air in and Michael basked in the comfort for a moment, at least until he rolled over and felt his sciatica give an unpleasant, threatening prickle.

Calum was sitting on the windowsill, one leg folded to his chest as his bare foot rested lightly on the carpet. He was smoking again, his mobile pressed to his ear as he murmured into it. By the softness on his face, he could only have been speaking to Luke and Michael relaxed a little, even despite his pain; at least _their_ relationship still had the chance to flourish, even if his and Ashton’s was irredeemable now.

“- and your mum’s actually getting _better_?” Calum was asking softly, his dark eyes wider with surprise as he gazed out over the Fells, painted golden in the sunrise. “Lukey, that’s such good news. I’m so _happy_ for you. I – Oh, he _did_? Well, Ben’s always had a soft spot for you, hasn’t he? Not like Jack and your dad. I’m glad he told you he missed you. That must’ve meant a lot.”

Calum paused to listen to whatever the blond man was saying, taking a deep drag of the cigarette and sighing as his shoulders became tense.

“Mikey’s doing okay,” he said in a wearier voice, his tone fond but undeniably apprehensive. “We’re going back up there after breakfast today and then – No, I’m not planning on taking anything back with us right now. I figure we can pay a removal company to do that later, if we ever manage to actually _sell_ the damn place.”

There was another moment of silence and Calum let out a quiet sigh.

“I don’t know,” he said sadly, cradling the phone closer for a moment, like Luke _wasn’t_ hundreds of miles away on the other side of the country. “Mike just wants answers I think. I only hope he can get the closure he needs… and that we both don’t get killed in the attempt.” Calum barked out a laugh and, dimly, Michael heard Luke berating him down the phone line. “I was only kidding, Lukey! I’m sorry!”

Michael’s sciatica was definitely making itself known now and he let out a quiet groan as he stretched, instantly regretting the movement when pain rocketed down his leg. Calum’s eyes snapped to his face and Michael managed a tired wave, his bruised face grey with how much it hurt.

“Gotta go, Lukey. Mike’s awake now… but I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave Wasdale Head, yeah? We’ll start driving back to London later today.” Calum’s cheeks heated suddenly and he turned away a little, looking out over the rolling fields again to where the mountains touched the sky. “I love you too, Luke,” he said softly. “More than you know.”

Michael pushed himself into an uncomfortable sitting position, raking his fingers through his hair so that it was in some semblance of control. He wanted to get it cut when he got back to London, until he’d lost the crimson streaks entirely. Maybe it was time to let his natural colour flourish again. Maybe it was time to let go.

“You hurting today?” Calum asked with a frown, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Do you think you’re gonna be able to make it? I know you said you wanted to walk up there but I can drive us if –”

“No, it’s fine,” Michael said firmly, gritting his teeth as he got slowly to his feet. “I’ll be alright in a little while.” This may or may not have been true. “I’m gonna have a shower but you don’t have to wait up here if you’ve got stuff to do first. I’ll probably be slow.”

“That’s okay, Mike,” Calum said softly, his eyes warm in the morning light. “I’ll bring some breakfast back up to the room, yeah? It’ll be waiting for you when you’re all washed up. Then we can get going afterwards.”

“Sure,” Michael said, smiling in relief. “Thank you, Cal.”

The younger man was true to his word. A bacon roll and a takeaway cup of coffee were waiting for Michael when he limped out of the bathroom, and a comforting warmth bloomed in the older man’s chest as he settled down on his bed to eat. Calum was sitting nearby, dressed in jeans and a lavender-coloured sweatshirt that Michael was fairly certain belonged to Luke.

Michael was so glad their friendship had survived.

The dark-haired man looked more peaceful than he’d seemed in a long time after talking to the blond man on the phone and Michael was glad they’d got the chance to catch up. He only wished that _he_ could feel so calm too but it didn’t seem possible now. There was a nervous energy spreading through his veins that refused to leave.

“Ready?” Calum asked a short while later, when the conversation had died down like fire and there was nothing else holding them back. Michael nodded, his face pale as he squared his jaw determinedly.

“Let’s get this over and done with,” he said, thinking back to Calum’s comment earlier and trying for a smile that probably fell woefully flat. “You better bring your running trainers, Cal. Just in case we need to make a quick getaway, right?”

“You’re as bad as me!” Calum said with a delighted grin. “No wonder Luke gets so fed up of our hilarious wit. I think we have a career in stand-up comedy if my ranger thing falls through.”

“Oh god,” Michael groaned, rolling his eyes skyward as he followed Calum out of the hotel room. “Don’t give up your day job, Cal. Oops – too late!”

The younger man deliberately messed Michael’s hair up for that jibe but he was careful of the stitches and his face remained gentle. Michael hummed contentedly, bumping into his best friend with his elbow as Calum loped easily down the stairs ahead of him.

“Love you, Cal,” Michael called and Calum looked back, his tired eyes crinkling as he grinned back up at his best friend.

“I love you too, Mikey,” he said cheerfully. “Now c’mon. We’ve got a haunted house to visit.”

“You say really stupid shit sometimes,” Michael said pointedly as he followed the younger man out into the early morning sunlight. Calum threw him a stupid wink as he gestured in the direction of the road that would lead them up to Deadman’s Rise.

“It’s all part of my charm,” he said.

It felt like the two of them were skipping out of school together for a moment; felt like they were just fifteen years and the world was okay again; big and exciting… an abstract concept that hadn’t yet thrown everything they knew off kilter.

The walk up to the house was longer than he remembered and Michael’s sciatica protested every step taken without a cane to lean on. Their breath fogged up in the cool northern air around them but the first snowdrops of the year were already forcing their way out of the cold ground and Michael thought again of the flower section in the Book Of Shadows for a moment as his heart softened in his chest.

Snowdrops meant new beginnings.

“You doing okay, Mikey?” Calum asked anxiously when Michael let out a particularly ragged breath, his movements laborious as his leg betrayed him yet again. He found it hard to be frustrated though; his sciatica was simply a part of life and he would have to learn to live with that.

“Yeah, almost there now anyway,” Michael grunted, gritting his teeth as his leg seared again. “The house is just round the next bend and – _Oh_.” He fell quiet, his eyes alighting on a very familiar cane resting against the low stone wall nearby. He limped towards it, his shoulders tense between Calum’s watchful gaze.

“Is this where –?” The dark-haired man’s words trailed away but Michael nodded silently, his thumb rubbing the polished wood handle as he swallowed audibly.

“We’re close,” Michael murmured and Calum reached for his free hand wordlessly, their fingers entwining as tight as the ivy growing around the oak tree outside Michael’s window. They turned the corner together and both of them slowed to an unconscious stop.

Deadman’s Rise hadn’t changed a bit and, although it may have seemed foolish to expect otherwise after just a few short days, the sheer immensity of their discoveries meant that the thoroughfare seemed alien now.

The world felt so still as they stepped under cover of the tree. It was as though time had frozen almost. The decaying leaves of autumn were still visible under the dampness of the long-melted winter snow and the sunlight shone down in delicate beams between the spidery branches, illuminating dust and dew in shafts of gold.

It felt like the road was untouched by the rest of the world… like the pair of them had stumbled through a gateway into another dimension without realising it.

Michael wondered how he’d never noticed the otherworldliness of Deadman’s Rise before.

“Knowing what we know now…” Calum’s voice trailed away and he shivered, wrapping his free arm around himself. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

“I’m not scared,” Michael said honestly. He remembered the shadowy figure burning itself away like ink and the softer version of Ashton’s father underneath. He remembered the butterfly and the soil beneath his fingernails.

“There’s nothing here that wants to hurt us. Not anymore.”

Despite the older man’s reassurances, Calum still hesitated and the wariness in his eyes – although definitely not unfounded – did nothing to make Michael relax beside him. The air around them felt charged and the hairs on the back of their necks rose. Calum’s fingers were tight around his.

There was absolute silence and then – quite suddenly – a clattering sound could be heard, growing louder and louder until –

A red deer darted out into the road up ahead, making them both freeze. It was beautiful, its coat shining in the light as it stared back at them, its nostrils flaring as it scented the air. Calum’s hand slipped from Michael’s as he reached slowly into his pocket for his phone, his eyes wide with excitement, ever the faithful ranger even now.

A puff of breath escaped him in a thrilled gasp as he snapped a picture because, even from this distance, the deer was _so_ beautiful.

It stepped gracefully across the tarmac, its cloven hooves dainty as it stepped through the shadows. Calum looked like he was about to melt into an excited puddle on the floor by now and Michael watched him fondly, distracted for a moment at the childlike joy flooding the dark-haired man’s face as he took a measured step in the direction of the deer.

It looked back at him sharply, their gazes meeting for a moment before a familiar rumbling roar sounded and the animal bounded away, crossing the road in seconds and disappearing into the undergrowth on the other side. Calum let out a little whine of disappointment, shooting Michael a guilty look before he ran across the road too.

“I’ll be just a minute, Mike!” Calum called over his shoulder, leaving the older man stranded on the pavement. “I really wanted to get a better picture – I could win the National Geographic photography competition with an opportunity like this!”

Michael was fairly sure that this was an exaggeration but he let Calum go anyway, rolling his eyes as he stepped onto the tarmac after him. His knee ached but he figured he had time to reach the pavement before the truck had even turned the corner, let alone caused him any danger.

A shiver ran down his spine and it took Michael a moment to realise why he suddenly felt so distressed.

He was standing where Ashton had died; maybe even in exactly the same spot.

It sent a thrill of dread through him and Michael shuddered as he remembered Ashton describing his death while his imagination filled in all of the horrible details: the panicked breaths clawing out of Ashton as he hurtled into the road, covered in his father’s blood; the crunch as the truck collided with him; the way his body broke – crumpled – _died_ – even as he continued to run, chasing nothing.

Michael’s knee flared with agony and his leg folded beneath him, sending him staggering to his knees as the truck rounded the bend, almost like Michael had been frozen in place without realising it.

A shrill ringing sound filled his ears but Michael didn’t think it had anything to do with the truck; it sounded almost like someone was screaming at him to move instead… a voice calling from so very far away and yet… it sounded _just_ like –

The horn was blaring now but Michael’s leg completely gave way and he collapsed into the puddles with a winded groan, his panic flooding through him. The pain hadn’t been this unexpectedly awful since that night when he’d fallen down the stairs and Michael couldn’t separate the fiery agony consuming him from the sensible adrenaline-fuelled part of his brain that wanted him to **move**.

Calum was screaming for him as he hurtled back through the trees but the underbrush was thick with thorns and Michael watched in horror as the dark-haired man smashed down onto the pavement with a cry, his panic evident in the crackling air between them as he reached uselessly for his best friend.

Michael wanted so badly to move – to go to his best friend and help him – but it just wasn’t possible now. His sciatica was rendering him useless and the fear was settling in Michael’s aching bones, freezing him as his cane lay in the road uselessly nearby.

The truck’s brakes were screeching sickeningly but the road was damp and the distance between them was shrinking by the second, and Calum would never reach him in time. Michael knew that now.

He felt like he was watching everything through glass for a moment: the pain and fear, and the abrupt unexpected horror of it all, and the only thing he knew for sure in that moment was that he didn’t want to go.

There was still so much left he wanted to do in this world.

Michael wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

He thought of all the people he’d never get a chance to say goodbye too… thought of all the people who had deserved so much _more_ from him than he had ever been able to give: his best friends, his parents, his grandpa… and Ashton.

Michael closed his eyes as the thundering tyres sped closer, his heart forcing itself into his throat because there was nothing he could do now and then –

Something hit him but not from the direction he’d been expecting.

Michael’s bruised form was lifted bodily from the road, his limp hands sliding through the puddles beneath him as he was dragged onto the curb. The truck roared past with a mere second to spare, throwing up a cloud of rainwater as the horn blared, the driver cursing out of the window.

Michael was trembling so violently that he felt like he was going to fall apart, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he shivered. A sob was building in his throat but before he could do much more than draw in a panicked gasp, a familiar scent washed over him and the comfort it offered was shocking.

Michael could smell Ashton in the air – the coolness of his skin, the way his flannel shirt was slightly damp from the rain, the pine of the forest clinging to his jeans, the laundry-detergent smell of his t-shirt, the shampoo he’d used the night before he died.

Now that Michael knew to look for it, he realised he could feel someone else’s arms wrapped around him too; a body curved safely around him as lips brushed his clammy neck. Michael kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, somehow aware that if he opened them then the illusion would shatter… but he could still _feel_ him… like Ashton had never left at all.

Maybe Michael had been killed. Maybe the truck had hit him and this was his own warped version of heaven.

If it was, Michael thought he’d be okay with it. He’d always loved Ashton more than was healthy.

“ _Mikey_ ,” a familiar voice cried but it wasn’t the one he’d been hoping to hear and bitter tears welled up as he processed that it was Calum speaking.

Michael opened his emerald eyes slowly, another shudder tearing through him as his knee ached. He was lying on the pavement, the sky above him a clear blue, the cane rolling innocently nearby. He was alone and his heart felt far too big for his chest.

Calum was stumbling towards him, his face ashen as he rubbed distractedly at a graze on his wrist. His cheeks were streaked with tears and the relief saturating his expression was outweighed only by the shocked disbelief.

“You moved!” Calum was croaking as he collapsed down onto the pavement beside his best friend. “You lifted into the air but there was no one there! What the fuck, Mike?! What the actual _fuck_?!”

Calum’s terror seemed to come out of nowhere and Michael shivered as he reached for him, pulling him down into a tight hug as the tears mingled on their cheeks.

“It was Ashton,” Michael breathed, their foreheads touching as Calum cradled his face, apparently reassuring himself that the older man was fine. “He was here, Cal. I _felt_ him.”

“He saved you,” Calum whispered, his eyes wide with astonishment. A tear slipped down his cheek, quickly followed by more. “I was only joking earlier when I told Luke we might get killed,” the younger man muttered suddenly, a watery smile touching his too-pale face. “Why’d you have to prove me right, arsehole?!”

“Didn’t _mean_ to,” Michael said gruffly, closing his eyes with relief for a moment. “You’ll get big-headed if you’re always right. It’ll make you arrogant.”

“Oh, shut up,” Calum groaned but he was still hugging the older man ridiculously tightly and it took any sting from his words. “You better not scare me like that ever again. I missed turning into the new David Attenborough for you. I’ll probably have nightmares for _years_.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael replied as Calum helped him painfully into a sitting position. “Join the club, mate.”

It took a few minutes before either of them were ready to stand up, the rainwater soaking into their clothes as Calum stayed stubbornly beside him, his arm wrapped securely around the older man’s waist. Michael clutched his cane tightly, still trembling as the pair of them made their clumsy way down the long driveway. It reminded him of the three-legged races they used to participate in at school on Sports Day for a moment and the sudden nostalgia he felt took his breath away.

Michael was still reeling from how _old_ this memory made him feel when Calum unlocked the front door, shooting a wary glance into the shadowy hallway before he ushered his best friend safely inside. Michael sat down heavily at the bottom of the stairs, setting the cane aside and rubbing his bruised face weakly to remove the rainwater as Calum lingered nearby, his eyes darting about nervously.

Through unspoken agreement, neither of them shut the front door - mostly because they didn’t want to feel trapped here again - but Michael already knew things were different this time. He still didn’t feel as though they were alone but there was nothing malicious hanging in the air anymore. The house felt cleaner around them almost, the light purer.

The wind picked up outside and, as a handful of fallen leaves swirled across the gravel, Michael’s bedroom door creaked slowly open.

As his surprised eyes traced the unexpected movement, his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

His bedroom floor was covered in Polaroids - hundreds more than he had ever discovered before - all of them lying spread out on the wooden panels, picture-side up and spaced evenly apart. Michael rose on weak legs, his green eyes damp with tears as he drifted unconsciously closer with Calum following him tentatively, a trembling hand covering his mouth as the younger man gazed about him in awe.

Michael knelt down stiffly, uncaring of the pain for a moment as his fingertips skated lightly over the glossy pictures. He saw Ashton, his parents, their house and garden, the view of the mountains. Michael could see Ashton playing baseball, relaxing with his friends, crouching down to pet a cat, playing on a swing set, riding his first bike, being spoon-fed baby food from a high chair, being cuddled between both of his parents.

Michael could barely breathe past the tears and love swelling in his chest because… fuck, because it was _real_.

It was all **real** and Ashton had saved the older man’s life, and Michael could never _ever_ repay him for it.

“Oh, Mikey,” Calum said, his voice little more than a breath as he knelt down too. One of his hands settled on Michael’s shoulder - slumped with grief and love - as he moved some of the closer Polaroids for a better look. “You can tell it’s the seventies here, can’t you?” His smile was soft and very sad. “They’re so _happy_ though, aren’t they? Can’t you see how much they love each other?”

Calum’s fingertip was nudging a Polaroid a little further away and Michael looked closer, a lump rising in his throat as he saw Ashton’s parents dancing together. Ashton’s mother’s caramel hair was curling prettily over the flowery blouse she was wearing, her flared trousers making him smile fondly. Her husband was wrapped lovingly around her, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his mousy hair brushing his jaw as he tucked his chin over her shoulder, his glasses sliding down his nose.

They both looked so much like their only son that it took Michael’s breath away.

“Ash always said his dad used to be kind before they came here,” he said softly, the pad of his thumb skirting the edge of the picture gently. “I guess here’s the proof.”

Calum made a small noise of surprise nearby as he reached out suddenly, hesitating just before he touched the Polaroid. The older man followed his gaze, shivering with misery and _longing_ as he reached to pick it up.

“This is how he looked when I knew him,” Michael murmured, cradling the precious picture carefully between his palms. “This is how I’ll remember him.”

The Ashton in the picture was probably eighteen or nineteen, leaning against a brick wall covered in ivy - maybe even against this very house - with his glasses sitting crookedly on his tanned face. The ever-present baseball was being tossed into the air as the picture was taken, his hazel eyes fixed on it as a grin tugged at his full lips.

Ashton was wearing peeling trainers and an old flannel shirt, and the contentedness of his expression was something Michael had rarely seen during their time together; only on that comfortable evening spent making wishes on bay leaves or the day they sat together on the porch as the sun rose behind the mountains.

Ashton’s bright eyes sparkled with intelligence and good humour, and absolute _life_.

Michael had never seen the younger man look quite like that before.

Ashton _shone_.

“I’ll never forget you,” Michael whispered unthinkingly, the tears slowly beginning to slide down his cheeks as he held the picture closer. He slipped the Polaroid into his jacket pocket after a moment of hesitation and, when something that felt _almost_ like the breeze gently tousled his hair, Michael knew this was forgiven.

With the picture so close to him now, it felt as though Ashton was beside him once more.

Calum drew the older man into a warm hug when Michael’s tears finally overwhelmed him and, as they sat there together - their sorrow, wonder, and love wrapping around the pair of them like a cloak - Michael knew that everything had happened as it was meant to. They had become stronger because of it.

Holding Calum so close now made their friendship feel the way it used to before they were hurt… before their lives were changed upon meeting Luke… before the world and its hatred tried to extinguish their light.

Burying his face comfortingly in the younger man’s neck, Michael swore that he would never let anything pull them apart again.

“It feels wrong to leave the Polaroids all over the floor like this,” Calum murmured when the pair of them finally parted. His dark curls were falling messily into his tear-wet eyes after the rain outside and Michael brushed his knuckles gently over the younger man’s soft cheek, his fingertip dipping into the dimple to make Calum roll his eyes fondly.

“I think you’re right,” Michael said as his gaze drifted over the evidence of an entire family’s history scattered on the floor around them. “But… it feels wrong to take them with us too. Maybe…” He faltered, biting his lip as he glanced back towards the hallway. “Maybe we should leave them in the living room. That’s where I felt watched most. Maybe that’s where they rest now.”

“Good idea,” Calum said, leaning forwards to gather up the pictures closest to him. Michael did the same, both of them falling into a comfortable silence as they carefully collected the Polaroids that had been spread out so lovingly for them to view. The sheer _trust_ they had been shown was an honour that Michael would never forget; not for as long as he lived.

Luke would be so hurt that he had missed this.

“C’mon, Cal,” Michael said softly once the dark-haired man had helped his best friend carefully to his feet. “It’s almost over now.”

They made their slow way into the living room together, taking in the old cracked leather sofa and the secondhand lampshade, its tassels still drifting in the breeze even now. The peace lily was alive and blooming on the coffee table once more. The goodbye note Calum had left Michael was gone.

It was like nothing untoward had ever happened there at all and, judging by the unnerved look on the dark-haired man’s face, he seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing.

Deciding not to dwell on it, Michael reached for the Polaroids that Calum had been holding and began to sort through them until he settled on one of the entire family together. Ashton couldn’t have been more than three years old but the love in the picture was unmistakable and Michael was sure that this was how the Irwins would want to be remembered.

“Do we have any pins here?” he asked and, with a slightly confused frown, Calum disappeared into the kitchen to search. While he was gone, Michael settled the rest of the pictures neatly beside the peace lily, the waxy white petals of the flower casting strange shadows over the shiny surface of the Polaroids.

“We’ve got loads!” Calum called back triumphantly before he returned with a box of them, scattering a few into his best friend’s waiting palm. “What are you going to do with them?”

Michael limped towards the fireplace with the family picture held carefully in his hand. Calum was watching him curiously and the older man shot a fond glance over his shoulder for a moment before concentrating on carefully pinning the Polaroid to the wooden mantelpiece, where once upon a time the family might have hung Christmas stockings.

“I’m going to make this house look lived in, Cal,” Michael said softly, one fingertip tracing the picture tenderly. “Because it is. It always _has_ been.”

They spent the next few hours pinning the Polaroids to every surface they could find and it made the house feel _lived_ in again almost… the way it always should have been.

The sheer rightness of the deed thrummed comfortingly through Michael’s ribcage like a hummingbird, filling his heart with sunlight and hope. He felt like broken pottery for a moment; all of the cracks in him sealed with gold.

When Calum squeezed his best friend’s shoulder gently before murmuring that he would wait for him outside, Michael’s world righted on his axis. He saw everything as it had been, as it would be, and as it was. Most of all as it was.

The day had dawned bright and sunny through the wide living room windows, and the open front door allowed the watery light to gently fill the room.

Michael turned to take it all in, looking past the faded grey carpet and the threadbare rug to the way the house would have been _before_ , full of love and laughter and life.

He knew then what he needed to do.

Michael had to **live**.

He would fulfill Ashton’s wish and finally be happy.

The urge struck him like a blacksmith’s hammer and the resulting sparks illuminated the world around him like fireflies.

All he had to do was leave the house and keep walking until he found Calum; until they made it back to London together and reunited with Luke; until Michael could hug his mum again and prove that he loved her enough to keep his promise; until he could truly repair the bonds he shared with his two best friends.

Michael would _never_ stop doing everything he could to prove how much his loved ones meant to him.

That was what he had taken from this terrifying, heartwarming, unearthly experience.

That was what he would carry with him until his dying day.

Michael was going to keep going until he felt alive again.

He _had_ to.

There was no other path to take.

He left the Irwin’s house without pain, carrying nothing but his grandpa’s telescope, his mum’s Book Of Shadows, Ashton’s Polaroid, and his cane tucked safely under one arm.

Michael could feel watchful eyes on his back as he carefully descended the wooden steps but they didn’t feel scary anymore. They felt _safe_.

Ashton whispered goodbye and Michael felt it on the breeze, ruffling his fading hair playfully and coaxing the tears from his flushed cheeks.

He was crying again but he didn’t wish he was dead anymore - he had never felt _further_ from it - because… god, Ashton had _saved_ him and maybe now Michael could live for both of them.

Maybe.

He felt lighter and happier than he had been in _years_ as he stepped down onto the driveway, emerging limping into the brightness of a beautiful almost-spring day.

He was not alone. He never had been and he never would be again.

“Hey, Mikey bear,” Calum said softly, reaching out a hand for his best friend to take. “Let’s go and find Luke, yeah?”

Michael entwined their fingers tightly as his heart beat golden in his chest.

He left without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who invested the time to read this story.  
> I've been working on it for over a year now and it means so much that I was lucky enough to be able to share it to you.  
> I hope the ending lived up to your expectations and I swear that (once I've had a little break) I'll start writing some of the CWL!oneshots I've been planning for this series (remember to subscribe!).  
> Please remember to leave comments and kudos as your feedback really does mean the world to me.  
> Now I'm off to cry because I can't believe this story is finally over.  
> I love you all so much. ❤

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I'm already working on the next chapter and I can't wait to hear what you think.  
> Kudos and comments mean the world <3333
> 
> Spotify playlist:  
> https://goo.gl/sgso6F


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